Chapter 2

The old saying goes — walk at night too often, and you’re bound to run into ghosts.

Ling Chen had never believed it.

Whenever his coworkers talked about “ghostly shadows lingering near the cremation furnace” or “midnight wails in the farewell room,” Ling Chen found it terribly boring.

But now, staring at the semi-transparent figure floating mid-air, Ling Chen fell into a long silence.

His materialistic worldview had taken a severe hit.

The human remained silent, but the ghost spoke first.

“Sorry for scaring you.” The floating figure — let’s continue calling him He Jinchao for now — smiled apologetically at Ling Chen and asked in a gentle tone, “May I ask, where am I?”

“…XX District Funeral Service Center, commonly known as a crematorium.” Ling Chen desperately wanted to grab something for self-defense, but unfortunately, he couldn’t even produce a string of prayer beads. He feigned composure and answered, “This is the No. 2 Farewell Room’s mortuary. I’m your… uh, mortician.”

“So I’m dead?”

“Very obviously so.”

“Could I be in a state of false death?” He Jinchao, still semi-transparent, floated a bit closer, gazing at his body lying in the ice coffin with a slight frown.

Ling Chen thought for a moment. “How about I kiss you and see if you cough up a poisoned apple?”

He Jinchao froze, instinctively looking up at Ling Chen. Because of his job, Ling Chen always wore a mask at work, so He Jinchao couldn’t see his face clearly — only a pair of bright, expressive eyes.

He Jinchao hesitated, then asked uncertainly, “Are you joking with me?”

“Are you joking with me?” Ling Chen tapped on the ice coffin. “Mr. He, you’re half-transparent and asking if you’re in a false death? If you weren’t really dead, we wouldn’t dare take you in here.”

He Jinchao had no response to that.

He tried floating around his own body, attempting to “repossess” it, but no matter how many times he tried, an invisible barrier seemed to keep him from getting too close.

Ling Chen, unsure of what else to do, rummaged through his makeup kit and pulled out… a brow-trimming knife.

Well, it was a weapon of sorts.

The small room was deathly silent, save for the hum of the ice coffin’s cooling system.

Just then, the door to the mortuary suddenly opened, and the familiar figure of the supervisor stepped in.

“Xiao Ling, how’s the makeup going… hey, why are you standing in the corner?” The supervisor frowned. “And what’s with the powder all over the floor?”

The supervisor’s unexpected entrance made both man and ghost freeze in place.

In moments like these, it was hard to tell who was more scared — the living or the dead.

Ling Chen flinched, gripping the brow knife tighter as his gaze instinctively darted toward He Jinchao’s soul.

The supervisor noticed him staring into thin air and called out, “Xiao Ling! What are you daydreaming about?”

He Jinchao’s soul suddenly moved — boldly floating over to the supervisor, waving a hand right in front of his eyes.

But the supervisor’s gaze didn’t waver, still focused on Ling Chen.

“It seems like he can’t see me,” He Jinchao said, turning back to Ling Chen. “Only you can.”

Ling Chen reflexively responded, “We’re not close, so don’t call me Xiao Ling.”

The supervisor, thinking Ling Chen was talking to him, was confused. “Not close? You’ve worked under me for three years. What else would I call you?”

Ling Chen: “…” What an injustice.

“Sorry, I think getting woken up in the middle of the night left me a bit groggy.”

The supervisor’s expression softened. He walked into the room, shut the door behind him, and patted Ling Chen’s shoulder.

“Xiao Ling, I know that President Wang was rude earlier. His attitude wasn’t great, but you have to understand. He runs a talent agency, and He Jinchao was his biggest moneymaker. Losing a star like that — can you imagine how he feels?” He gestured toward the ice coffin. “No matter how glamorous someone was in life, they all end up here eventually. I remember you’re a fan of He Jinchao, right? Make sure he looks handsome.”

Ling Chen’s gaze also fell on the ice coffin.

“He Jinchao… how did he die?”

“Who knows?” the supervisor replied. “Big shots like President Wang don’t share those details with us. But…”

He didn’t bother lowering his voice. After all, aside from the two of them, there was no one else in the room.

“Big stars don’t just drop dead. A rushed funeral like this usually means one of three things. First, depression — actors get too deep into their roles, can’t pull out, and take a tragic step. Second, illegal stuff — drugs, overdosing. Third, some kind of fatal… ahem… ‘adventure.’”

Ling Chen: “…”

Supervisor, there may not be other people here, but there is an involved ghost.

Floating opposite the supervisor, He Jinchao’s face had turned an alarming shade of green with fury.

The supervisor rubbed his neck and muttered, “Why is it so cold in here?”

He shrugged it off. “Anyway, I’ve got other things to handle. Hurry up, okay? President Wang wants the farewell ceremony done right at sunrise.”

Ling Chen was surprised. “Why so early?”

“They’re afraid of leaks. Reporters are everywhere these days. The red envelope was generous, so let’s do it.”

Ling Chen asked, “Will they cremate him immediately after?”

“Nope. His family wants the body returned to his hometown and buried in the ancestral tomb.”

At the words “ancestral tomb,” Ling Chen clearly heard He Jinchao let out a cold laugh, his previously calm expression turning sharp.

The supervisor left after a few more instructions, and the room fell silent again.

Well, mostly silent.

The moment the door shut, He Jinchao floated beside Ling Chen. “First, I was healthy — no depression. Second, I’ve never done anything illegal. Third, I’ve always kept my private life clean.”

Ling Chen ignored him, bending — or rather, maneuvering around him — to pick up the fallen makeup brush. He returned to the ice coffin.

Ling Chen stared down at the sleeping face within. The man’s eyes were closed, lips colorless, features so finely sculpted he seemed almost divine.

Exhaling softly, Ling Chen picked up his tools again, this time applying lipstick with meticulous care.

He Jinchao, watching the scene, asked quietly, “Aren’t you afraid of me?”

“Mr. He, it seems you weren’t paying attention to our supervisor.” Ling Chen worked diligently. “President Wang promised me a big bonus if I work fast and do a good job.”

“…?”

“There are many things scarier than ghosts in this world,” Ling Chen said, leaning on the ice coffin and looking up at the translucent figure. “For me — poverty is much worse.”

—-

As the first light of dawn pierced the clouds, no one knew a secret farewell ceremony was underway.

It had rained the night before, and puddles of water had yet to be dried by the sun. Several mourners moved briskly, their faces solemn, stepping over the puddles and occasionally sending ripples that shattered the reflections on the water’s surface.

Inside the oppressively somber funeral viewing room, baskets upon baskets of fresh flowers almost filled every empty space. Among the blossoms, a tall, handsome figure lay in repose. His slightly long black hair draped gently to the sides, his eyes closed peacefully, and his brows relaxed as if he had fallen into a long, serene slumber.

Standing under the eaves, Ling Chen fiddled with a small white silk flower, using it as a pretext to observe each mourner.

For confidentiality, only about a dozen people had been invited to this ceremony. Every guest was thoroughly searched before entering; all phones, smartwatches, and electronic devices were confiscated. Not even a mosquito could sneak in here.

Ling Chen’s keen eyes identified several big-name actors and renowned directors who had hurried to pay their respects, proof that He Jinchao had earned great regard within the industry.

Some whispered speculatively, wondering if this was some elaborate prank show. Maybe, in just a few moments, He Jinchao would sit up from the coffin and shout, “Surprise!”

Unfortunately for them, their hopes remained unfulfilled. Even as the solemn funeral music played, the man amidst the flowers remained still, forever asleep.

Amid the music, the mourners formed loose rows and bowed their heads in silence.

None of them would ever know that a translucent figure stood just a few steps behind them, staring blankly at the man lying in the coffin.

Ling Chen wasn’t one to meddle in others’ business, but when he saw the lonely figure, he couldn’t stop himself from approaching.

He kept his voice low to avoid drawing attention and gently asked, “Mr. He… are you alright?”

He Jinchao withdrew his gaze and turned to Ling Chen. When he smiled, a delicate crease appeared at the corner of his eye. The dazzling smile gave Ling Chen pause—he recalled reading online that this crease was called a “peach blossom wrinkle”, said to charm anyone who looked upon it.

The man spoke, “I’m contemplating something that’s been puzzling me for a long time.”

Ling Chen asked, “What’s that?”

He Jinchao lifted his arms and formed a frame with his hands, as if viewing the figure in the flowers through a director’s lens. Then, with a serious expression, he declared, “I finally understand why directors prefer to film close-ups of my right side. Objectively speaking, my right profile really is more photogenic than my left.”

Ling Chen: “…”

The silk flower in his hand nearly tore apart.

He Jinchao tilted his head. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

Through gritted teeth, Ling Chen replied, “Because I’m pondering a question too.”

He Jinchao’s curiosity was piqued. “What question?”

Ling Chen pointed outside, where the sun had risen. “The sun’s up, Mr. He. Why haven’t you moved on?”

“Moved on?”

He Jinchao appeared confused. Floating just under the eaves, he frowned in thought before boldly extending his hand into the sunlight. First his fingertips, then his palm, then his wrist… until his entire right hand was fully exposed.

The morning sun was warm but gentle, yet He Jinchao felt no heat. All he saw was sunlight streaming through his hand, casting no shadow.

“So, I’m not the kind of ghost that vanishes in sunlight—wait, why do you look… disappointed?”

Ling Chen quickly denied it. “Mr. He, you’re mistaken.”

But He Jinchao wasn’t fooled. “When you asked why I hadn’t moved on, you weren’t referring to a regular departure, were you? You were hoping I’d be incinerated by sunlight, weren’t you?”

Ling Chen forced a laugh, but it was undeniably awkward.

Alright, fine. He had been hoping this “Best Actor Ghost” would return to wherever he was supposed to go once the sun came up.

After all, he had chosen this job specifically to avoid interacting with people.

Who would’ve thought he’d end up interacting with ghosts instead?