Chapter 11

When everything finally returned to normal, Hu Yizhi was completely drained, both physically and mentally.

What kind of bad luck did he have today? First, his usually well-behaved little Shiba Inu, Chai Maru, inexplicably ran away from home. Then, he encountered a malicious ghost that treated his house’s lightbulbs as toys.

Worst of all—his gaming winning streak!

As a homebody who made a living by collecting rent without ever stepping outside, Hu Yizhi’s daily routine mainly consisted of playing games and reading comics. He had a small gaming livestream account, not many followers, no contracts—just casual streaming for fun. He had promised his viewers he would showcase a 50-match winning streak, but that streak was broken by a troublemaking ghost.

Hu Yizhi wanted to complain but didn’t dare raise his voice too much. He mumbled weakly, “My viewers will be so disappointed…”

Ling Chen asked out of curiosity, “How many followers do you have?”

Hu Yizhi proudly raised five fingers. “A full fifty!”

“Fifty thousand?” Ling Chen asked. “I follow some gaming streamers too. What’s your handle? I’ll give you a follow.”

Hu Yizhi’s lips twitched. “… Fifty. Just fifty.”

“… Pfft.” A certain ghost couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

As someone whose total platform followers once exceeded tens of millions and who easily drew an audience of a million during a live interview, He Jinchao had every reason to be smug.

The curly-haired young man, feeling even more aggrieved, suddenly let out a hiccup of frustration.

He Jinchao laughed even louder.

Since they already had uninvited guests, it was only natural to offer them a meal, whether the host was willing or not. Ling Chen, having grown tired of cafeteria food and the barren wastelands of his mountain retreat where delivery apps were useless, was determined to have a good meal in town—McDonald’s Mix-and-Match 1+1 combo, just 13.9 yuan.

Staring at the checkout screen, Ling Chen was surprised. “I remember it used to be 12.9. When did it go up by a yuan?”

Hu Yizhi shrugged. “How long have you been stuck in your remote cave? That price increase happened almost a year ago.”

He Jinchao teased, “Ling, are you really so poor that you’re nitpicking over one yuan?”

Ling Chen despised such “let them eat cake” remarks. “Sorry to disappoint, but yes, I’m one of those ‘price-sensitive’ types. Have you ever seen someone compare prices on three platforms and stack coupons just to save on a roll of toilet paper?” He pointed to himself. “Well, now you have.”

He Jinchao, unable to watch any longer, made a gesture. Ling Chen’s phone suddenly sprang to life, displaying a foreign banking interface he had never seen before. A swift login and transfer later, his regular banking app chimed:

Dear customer Mr. Ling, your account ending in xxxx has received a deposit of $100,000 USD.

He Jinchao smiled smugly. “Consider that repayment for the coffee earlier. No need to thank me too much.”

Ling Chen: “…”

He Jinchao added, “But you do owe me an apology.”

Ling Chen asked cautiously, “Apologize for what?”

Slowly, He Jinchao responded, “For threatening to become a hater. You need to apologize for that.”

“Alright, I apologize.” Without even blinking, Ling Chen delivered a smooth, heartfelt, and utterly shameless apology. “Mr. He, you are both wealthy and handsome, the embodiment of perfection. A few days ago, I was blind to your greatness and foolishly held a grudge against a superstar of your caliber. I now deeply regret my impudence. From now on, I’m your most devoted fan. I’ll rewatch all your movies every single day. Thank heaven for bringing us together at the side of a coffin.”

“I’ve made so many movies—rewatching all of them in one day is absurd.” He Jinchao assigned him a task. “One per day will do.”

Ling Chen didn’t hesitate. “I can watch them all, I really can—I follow several ‘Quick Movie Explainer’ accounts. I’ll listen while I do makeup for clients. It’s fast and efficient.”

Listening to English words in the womb was called prenatal education. Listening to movie commentaries in a coffin after death seemed perfectly reasonable too.

He Jinchao was speechless. “… Man, are you inventing new ways to tick me off?”

Ling Chen shrugged nonchalantly.

Previously, when He Jinchao had mentioned giving Ling Chen money, Ling Chen had dismissed it as empty boasting. Who would have thought the superstar would be so literal and efficient? Now that the windfall was in hand, Ling Chen abandoned all frugality and ordered every combo on the McDonald’s menu.

He Jinchao pointed out, “I can’t eat. There’s no need to order for me.”

Ling Chen blinked in confusion. “Huh? I didn’t order for you. I’m taking these to-go.”

He Jinchao: “… You should be glad I don’t have a death note. Otherwise, I’d fill an entire page with your offenses in one day.”

Hu Yizhi, watching this exchange, curiously asked, “Can’t eat? Why can’t you eat?”

He Jinchao explained, “I’ve tried. While I can control electronics, I can’t touch physical objects, so eating isn’t possible.”

“Really? But that’s not how ghosts eat.” Hu Yizhi’s small curls bounced as he spoke. “When I was a kid, I met a ‘gluttonous ghost.’ He died from bursting his stomach in an eating contest, and even after death, he wouldn’t stop eating—and he even tried to eat me! If my grandma hadn’t arrived in time, I would’ve been done for… Oh, sorry, I talk too much. Anyway, he told me how ghosts can still eat.”

The young shaman, benevolent and forgiving, taught the hungry ghost how to consume food.

The clever ghost caught on immediately.

Ling Chen was astonished. “You learned that fast?”

He Jinchao nodded. “Learned it fast.”

Ling Chen: “That easy?”

What about all the snail noodles and iced Americanos they had wasted before?

He Jinchao pondered. “Hu, do you have anything to eat? I want to try.”

Hu Yizhi cheerfully grabbed a small jar from in front of the TV. It was filled with round, coin-sized biscuits that appeared matcha-flavored.

Holding his breath, He Jinchao carefully summoned his soul’s energy, pinching a biscuit between two fingers. A wisp of smoke drifted out, coalescing in his grasp before he placed it in his mouth.

He chewed slowly, concentrating on the taste. His brow furrowed deeper with each bite.

Ling Chen grew concerned. “How is it?”

“This biscuit is hard,” He Jinchao remarked, puzzled. “The flavor… it’s very ‘healthy.'”

“‘Healthy?'”

“In simpler terms, it tastes like grass… and husks,” He Jinchao concluded.

Ling Chen eyed the jar. “Are you sure it’s not just your ghostly taste buds acting up? No way these taste like grass and husks.”

To test the theory, he grabbed a biscuit himself and took a bite.

He nearly broke a tooth. As for the taste…

“You were wrong,” Ling Chen winced, clutching his jaw. “It doesn’t just taste like grass and husks. It is grass and husks!”

He suspected these biscuits were made directly from raw straw and stems. But why would Hu Yizhi have such strange, inedible biscuits?

Wait a minute.

Both man and ghost turned to look at Hu Yizhi.

Hu Yizhi forced a dry smile. “Ah, I just realized I grabbed the wrong thing by accident. This is Shibamaru’s teething stick, haha, haha, hahahaha.”

Ling Chen: “… You did that on purpose.”

He Jinchao: “… You’re getting back at me.”

“How could I?” Hu Yizhi shook his head furiously, his curly hair bouncing side to side like a spring. “I can’t even afford to offend a ghost, let alone a rich ghost.”

Ling Chen and He Jinchao were now both completely convinced—he was absolutely being sarcastic.

—-

While waiting for the food delivery, Hu Yizhi offered to read their bazi (Eight Characters of Birth).

“When is your birthday? I’ll check your bazi, maybe it’ll explain that ‘line’ between you two.”

Ling Chen quickly reported his birthdate. “The twentieth day of the first month, lunar calendar, XX year.”

He Jinchao followed. “My birthday is August 12 on the solar calendar. I don’t know the lunar date—I never bothered with that.”

Hu Yizhi waved dismissively. “That’s easy.”

Ling Chen assumed he would calculate it with mystical finger-counting techniques, but instead, Hu Yizhi pulled out his phone, opened Baidu, and searched: “What is He Jinchao’s lunar birthday?”

Ling Chen: “…”

The phone immediately displayed a detailed result:
“He Jinchao, male, born August 12, XX year (lunar July 10), height: 184 cm, graduated from…”

He Jinchao floated next to Hu Yizhi to look at the screen.
He pointed out, “The info’s wrong.”

Hu Yizhi blinked. “Is it the birthday?”

“No,” He Jinchao corrected. “The height. 184 cm was my height when I was 20. I’m 1.87 meters now—and with shoes, I can easily hit 1.9 meters.”

Ling Chen chuckled. “Doesn’t matter if you’re 1.84 or 1.87. Coffins are all 2.4 meters. Once you’re dead, you’ll fit just the same.”

He Jinchao: “…”

Silence.

“—Wait, I know where your thread comes from!”
A metaphorical light bulb lit up above Hu Yizhi’s head, drawing both men’s eyes to him at once.

He jabbed a finger toward the calendar on his phone, as excited as a failing student suddenly acing the last bonus question on a math test.

“Look! One of your lunar birthdays is during the first quarter moon, and the other is during the third quarter! Together, it forms a full moon. And the best part? Your birthdays are exactly 1,999 days apart—congratulations to you both! You’re perfectly suited for a yin marriage!”