As a journalism student, I’ve seen this kind of news on my phone, but experiencing it firsthand is a whole different ballgame.

Across the street, a tire flew off a moving truck, tumbling and leaping over the divider.

I screamed and threw myself on Song Wei just as the huge tire smashed into a middle-aged woman’s back, sending her flying and knocking her unconscious on the road.

Song Wei and I exchanged looks. Was this some divine intervention? Even the heavens couldn’t stand it anymore?

The tire’s weight and momentum were shocking; many wouldn’t believe a tire could send someone flying if they hadn’t seen it with their own eyes.

I suddenly noticed my ring faintly glowing red.

Around us, many people were calling for help, and I quickly pulled Song Wei away from the crowd.

My heart was racing. Others might see this as an accident, but I knew it wasn’t—the flicker of my ring meant that the ugly ghost husband was behind this.

How could it be such a coincidence that a truck was passing by, its tire came off and it just happened to knock out that clawing middle-aged woman?

“Hey, Xiao Qiao, what’s that?” Song Wei noticed the name badge hanging around my neck.

“It’s just… a decoration,” I lied.

I didn’t really have friends at school, just Song Wei, and if she knew my family mingled with ghosts and spirits, she’d probably faint.

“Hmm?” She pinched the small jade badge and squinted at its bottom, frowning. “What’s this? Tai Bei Lord? No, wait, it should be read as: Lord… Bei Tai?”

I shuddered. Bai Wuchang had once scolded me for being foolish and mentioned, “Our Lord has little patience.” This Lord must be that ugly ghost husband, right?

“How do you know these characters?” I asked.

“My dad’s a folk calligrapher. He teaches calligraphy at the senior university,” Song Wei said proudly. “There’s not a brushstroke in this world I don’t recognize.”

Lord Bei Tai, Lord Bei Tai, I feel like I’ve seen these characters somewhere before.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

When I got back to our shop, my brother was having an impatient argument with a man who was insisting on leaving a package wrapped in oil paper on the counter, despite my brother pushing it back.

“I told you I don’t take this kind of junk!” my brother snapped.

“How can you not take it? Your dad sent me to bring it over, I left home before dawn,” the man said in a dialect.

During their argument, I noticed a corner of the oil paper revealing a pair of women’s embroidered shoes, adorned with dragons and phoenixes and embellished with pearls.

Such craftsmanship obviously belonged to an era gone by, only a master craftsman could create such exquisite apparel.

But for some reason, I felt a strong aversion, similar to the suffocating mustiness of the dark red wedding clothes my dad had once pulled out.

Thinking of the blood-red ghost face on my dad, these wedding clothes and embroidered shoes must have been collected by that ghost face possessing my dad.

“My dad went back to the countryside, you can talk to him when he returns,” my brother pushed him out forcefully.

“Dad went back to see Great Grandpa?” I asked.

“Yeah, I wanted to send him back, but he insisted on staying to keep the shop running and to look after you. Hey, go cook something, Xiao Qiao.”

…Who’s taking care of whom here?

While I was rolling up my sleeves to cook, my brother leaned in by the kitchen door and sniffed. “Smells great, too bad your ghost husband can’t enjoy it.”

“Don’t bother me here, go call and check if dad has reached the old house.”

Nowadays, with transportation so convenient, a long-distance bus on the expressway takes about three hours to reach our hometown county. Then a quick ride in a private minivan, and you’re at the old house in about four to five hours.

As I was serving the food, my brother was pacing with his phone.

“Damn!” he suddenly cursed.

I jumped and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t get through to dad’s phone, and when I called the old house, they said he hasn’t returned!” my brother gritted his teeth and dialed again.

The phone kept ringing, but no one answered.

Dad might be a bit of a childish old man, but he never jokes about safety.

“Ding.” My phone chimed with a WeChat notification.

I checked it; dad had sent a location.

My brother immediately called him while I pressed the voice button asking him where he was, urging him to answer.

But he still didn’t pick up.

My brother and I realized something was wrong, and he grabbed a black backpack from his room and ran out.

“I’m coming too!” I followed him to the garage and got into the passenger seat despite his objections.

“Dad’s gonna kill me if he finds out I brought you!” he said anxiously as he started the car.

“I’d be worried sick at home, let me come with you.” My hands trembled as I buckled up.

Without another word, my brother floored it towards the location dad had sent.

That place was over a hundred kilometers away by the highway, completely in the opposite direction of our hometown. Why would dad be there?!

“Bro, I suspect…” I felt a tingling on my scalp. “Could dad be controlled by that ghost face? We can’t tell when he’s normal, but that ghost face appeared on his back—”

“Don’t worry, dad wouldn’t just surrender. Let’s get there and see.”

A hundred kilometers went by quickly as my brother sped, ignoring the fines. When we arrived, the area was littered with vehicle parts, and a bus lay wrecked, a heap of twisted metal.

A traffic police officer on the scene saw us and said, “Family members, right? The injured were taken to the nearest health clinic, you should hurry there.”

He pointed in a direction and instructed us how to exit the highway. Following his directions, we reached a small, rundown town hospital.

The hospital was crowded and rundown. A nurse, overwhelmed and harried, yelled at everyone.

“Excuse me—” I began.

She shouted, “Seriously injured are on the second floor, minor injuries are in the lobby, and the dead are in the morgue on the basement level! Find your own way!”

Seeing how busy she was, my brother and I split up to search.

I looked around the lobby at the minor injuries, but didn’t see dad. Not giving up, I checked every department, to no avail.

My brother came down from the second floor, his face gloomy, “Nothing.”

The nurse yelled, “If there’s nothing, go check the basement!”

Reluctantly, we headed to the staircase leading to the basement, which was old and dark—I really didn’t want to go down there.

I was afraid of seeing my dad in the basement.

My brother, used to handling bodies from his medical studies, patted my shoulder. “If you’re scared, wait here. I’ll go down and check.”

I nodded, and he quickly descended. I relaxed a bit hearing him talk to someone below.

Suddenly, someone tapped my shoulder. I turned around and saw a middle-aged woman who asked, “Are you Mu Xiao Qiao?”