Chapter 12

In the past, whenever there was a marriage, funeral, or other major event in a household, people would always turn to the most respected and authoritative person in the village to preside over the ceremony. In Hu Village, that role belonged to the village chief, who also doubled as the Great Shaman.

Hu Yizhi grew up listening to his grandmother’s teachings. While he never mastered formal spells, he learned the basics of matching birth charts and predicting fortune and misfortune. When he looked at Ling Chen and He Jinchao’s birth charts, his eyes widened. Guess what? The words practically shouted “perfect match” at him!

If they had both been alive, they would have been bound by ten lifetimes of fate together. Unfortunately, the main character died early, turning what should have been a heavenly romance into a ghostly marriage.

For the first time, a story his grandmother had only ever spoken about came to life in front of Hu Yizhi. “I see it now. The connection between you two isn’t an ordinary thread. It’s the Red Thread of Fate—one that transcends identity, life, death, and distance! That thread binds you together, forcing you back together whenever you’re pulled apart.”

Before he could finish, his voice trailed off as Ling Chen’s cold gaze could almost kill.

Ling Chen cleaned his ears and asked with a forced smile, “Great Shaman, who do you think should be married in a ghost marriage? Who exactly is tied by a red thread?”

Hu Yizhi shrank back, mumbling, “It’s not me saying it—it’s the heavens. Just look at your birth charts. Yin and yang in perfect harmony. Even if He Jinchao is dead, you’re still a match made in heaven. In ancient times, you’d already be holding a rooster and bowing in a wedding ceremony.”

“Oh? In ancient times, someone like He Jinchao, half-human and half-ghost, would have been exorcised by a master.” Ling Chen’s voice was ice. “And how could a man possibly have a compatible birth chart with another man?”

Hu Yizhi opened his mouth to argue but bit his tongue. He wanted to say that it was a new era now. Even those dabbling in mysticism should embrace the times, proudly waving the LGBTQ+ flag and creating love stories (or ghostly romances) the public would love.

But he wouldn’t dare voice it. Ling Chen’s temper was as sharp as his looks were good. One look and you’d know he was well-versed in violence. And Hu Yizhi? He was a weak, wind-blown shaman, hardly a match for him.

Ling Chen turned to He Jinchao beside him and pressed for his opinion. “Are you going to say something?”

He Jinchao had been silent the whole time. When urged, he lazily replied, “I don’t mind.”

“…?”

“Isn’t this perfectly normal?” He Jinchao raised his eyebrows and smiled faintly. He always seemed focused more on his perfect smile than serious topics. Ling Chen suspected that even in a stampede of elephants, He Jinchao would still flash his charm.

“What celebrity hasn’t had a fan video pairing them up with someone? When I was alive, male and female actors alike wanted to create buzz with me. Now that I’m dead, it’s only natural I’d still be ‘shipped.’”

Ling Chen laughed angrily, “That’s beside the point! Who’s ‘shipping’ with you?”

“What’s the matter? Feeling shy?”

“Which eye of yours sees that?”

“Ah, so you’re just pretending not to enjoy it. Admit it—you’re secretly thrilled. It’s fine. You can call me your dream guy. I welcome all fan fantasies about me.”

“….” Ling Chen clenched his fists. He knew how to deal with people—but how do you beat a ghost?

Watching the two bicker for no reason, Hu Yizhi thought: Whoever said this was a mismatched couple must be blind. They had plenty of chemistry.

—-

Hu Yizhi shuffled into his study in his slippers, and He Jinchao and Ling Chen followed.

His small apartment had one bedroom shared with his dog, Xiao Maru, and the other room served as both a study and a live-streaming studio. The room was a nerd’s paradise—collectibles and expensive models filled a wall behind the camera. A half-human-tall red Gundam stood center stage, illuminated by spotlights for maximum impact.

A proud nerd, Hu Yizhi couldn’t resist showing off. “This Gundam? I built it from scratch—assembled, painted, and installed a mechanical frame myself. Took me three months!”

“Mechanical frame?” He Jinchao asked.

“Most toy frames are plastic, bendable for posing. Mine’s mechanical, with a remote control for walking, lighting up, and switching to battle mode.” Hu Yizhi could talk endlessly about his passion.

He Jinchao’s eyes twinkled with interest. “So theoretically, since it’s full of electronics, I could possess it and pilot it?”

“…It seems possible.”

He Jinchao raised a hand, and the red Gundam came to life. Its eyes glowed brightly, mechanical wings unfolded like arrows, and its aura screamed power.

He was tempted to make it fly, but one look at Hu Yizhi’s pained expression made him stop.

Meanwhile, Ling Chen, lost in thought, wondered: If he could put an electronic frame into a mini-doll, could He Jinchao…

Never mind. That idea needed more consideration.

Hu Yizhi didn’t continue showing off. He booted his computer, opened a program full of lines, circles, and a rotating moon at the center.

“What is this?” Ling Chen asked.

“Birth charts aren’t just for matchmaking—they’re also for divination. You want to know how He Jinchao died, right? The signs might reveal it. My grandmother taught me divination, but I never got the hang of it. In college, I majored in computer science and wrote this software. It tracks star paths, moon phases, yin-yang harmony, and even automates fortune-telling. My grandma hasn’t worried about me misreading charts since.”

“Impressive,” Ling Chen admitted.

A programmer and a tech-savvy shaman—who would’ve guessed?

“It’s the 21st century. Even shamans need to modernize.” Hu Yizhi grinned. “Next, I’ll develop iOS and Android apps, with an MBTI feature for even more accurate pairings.”

He input their data, but the program was unfinished—it would take a week to process.

In ancient times, rituals took weeks. Using tech to speed it up to a week was progress. Truly, technology changes lives.

“When the results are ready, I’ll tell you. When superstition fails, I trust science will answer.”

Their trip to town was unexpectedly fruitful.

He Jinchao gained a cup of coffee, a supernatural ability to manipulate electronic devices, and a spell that allowed him to enjoy human food.

Ling Chen, on the other hand, earned a sudden windfall of unexpected cash, a takeout feast so large it couldn’t be finished, and a “yin connection” with the spirit world.

On the ride back, the small minibus was nearly empty. After all, with the sun about to set, who would be heading to a funeral center deep in the mountains at such a late hour? It was simply too unlucky.

Ling Chen rarely found moments of solitude.

He sat curled up in the last row of the bus, resting his head against the window, his gaze unfocused as he watched the shadows of trees flash by. Each silhouette was left behind as the vehicle sped forward, only to be replaced by new ones rushing in.

To the driver, the lone young man taking a ride from the town to the funeral center appeared solitary and silent—sitting by himself at the back, not speaking, not using a phone, not even sleeping—just staring blankly out the window.

What the driver couldn’t see was the half-transparent figure seated next to Ling Chen, chattering incessantly.

“Hey, Ling, I need a smartphone so I can browse the internet. Make sure to get the XX brand. I signed a three-year endorsement deal with them, so I have to lead by example and support my own brand.”

“And buy a coffee machine—make it an OO model. Their marketing director was always courting my company before I died. Even though their brand positioning didn’t quite match my business model, their attitude was good. So I’d be willing to buy one as a consumer.”

“What do you think about the great sorcerer’s words? Apparently, this thread between us is a literal red string of fate. Right now, our maximum distance is 500 meters. I wonder if it’ll get shorter or longer in the future…”

“Hey, Ling, why are you ignoring me again?”

This time, Ling Chen finally reacted. He sighed deeply before asking, “I’d like to know—how can you talk so much?”

Ling Chen’s job was usually very quiet. His daily companions were cold coffins and clients who never disturbed him. Sometimes, he could go an entire week without speaking to a living person.

But ever since he got “bound” to He Jinchao, he had spoken more in the last three days than he had in an entire month before.

It turned out that even just talking could be exhausting.

So exhausting, in fact, it felt like a fairy tale gone horribly wrong—like a prince kissing Snow White awake only to discover she was actually his stepmother in disguise. Desperate to avoid marrying her, the prince would pretend to leave on a quest to conquer a neighboring kingdom. But that kingdom, named Arendelle, would have a queen who blew him right back to his stepmother’s bed with an icy whirlwind… that kind of tired.

Now Ling Chen finally understood why He Jinchao had never appeared on variety shows. Fans had assumed it was because he was dedicated to honing his craft, avoiding distractions to maintain his focus as an actor. But clearly, his agency was just trying to protect his public image from self-destruction—because with this level of narcissism, self-confidence, and self-centeredness, any TV appearance would have been a disaster.

“The phone and coffee machine—you’ll get both.” Ling Chen looked calmly at the translucent figure beside him. “Anything else? Make a list.”

He Jinchao blinked, surprised. “…Why are you being so agreeable all of a sudden?”

Ling Chen’s tone remained steady. “To inherit your money, of course.”

In TV dramas, when doctors solemnly told a patient’s family, “They only have three months left,” the family would take the patient home to fulfill their filial duty.

Ling Chen was no different.

For the sake of money, he would give He Jinchao a proper send-off.

As for that red string of fate? Surely, when He Jinchao truly “moved on,” the thread would disappear on its own.