Chapter 24

He Jinchao’s words immediately exposed the little ghost’s true identity. “Director Song’s” face contorted in horror as his eyes rolled upward, thick smoke seeping from his eye sockets. In a flash, the smoke spread and completely engulfed him. Seconds later, it dissipated through his mouth, nose, and ears, revealing Zheng Linlin’s true appearance.

No—this was no longer Zheng Linlin herself.

Her eye sockets were pitch black, her lips deathly pale, and veins in dark red and blue burst across her face. Her long hair hung disheveled over her shoulders, making her barely recognizable.

It was clear she had been possessed by the little ghost!

Facing the barely human figure of Zheng Linlin, two thoughts raced through Ling Chen’s mind—

This ghost was far stronger than he had anticipated!

And incredibly, Xiao Chaicha’s ghost-repelling pellets actually worked!

He wasn’t sure which fact surprised him more.

“Zheng Linlin” emitted a strange, grating sound like a broken bellows being pulled apart. Ling Chen strained to make out the words:
“Why… why does she… why does she have what I don’t…”

Who was the “she” that “Zheng Linlin” resented so deeply?

“Get out of my way!” Zheng Linlin’s possessed form, eyes filled with rage, lunged at Ling Chen, attempting to shove him aside.

At the critical moment, He Jinchao raised his arm, and a wreath leaning against the wall flew through the air, slamming into her back!

Under normal circumstances, the force would have sent a young girl flying several meters, but with the ghost possessing her body, she merely staggered a few steps. Her clothes grew more disheveled, but she was otherwise unscathed. The wreath lay shattered at her feet.

—This ghost was much stronger than expected.

The moon was now hidden behind thick clouds, leaving only the dim glow of a streetlight outside the mortuary room.

He Jinchao shoved Ling Chen back inside and closed the door with a rare look of sternness.
“Stay inside, Xiao Ling. The scent of those ghost-repelling pellets fills this place. As long as she can’t break through the barrier, you’ll be safe.”

“What about you?”

“Me?” He Jinchao smiled lightly, his usual handsomeness radiating charm, though Ling Chen was too tense to appreciate it. “Matters involving ghosts should be handled by ghosts. It’s time to teach this naughty child a lesson for causing trouble at night instead of resting.”

The more casually he spoke, the more uneasy Ling Chen felt. Even a blind person could tell that the ghost possessing Zheng Linlin wouldn’t be easy to deal with.

Instinctively, Ling Chen reached out to grab He Jinchao’s hand, forgetting for a moment that He Jinchao was in spirit form. His fingers passed right through, unable to hold him back.

“Be careful—” Before Ling Chen could finish his sentence, the door to the mortuary slammed shut.

Inside, Ling Chen could hear only the heavy sounds of collision outside. Each impact painted a vivid picture in his mind of the battle He Jinchao was facing.

Would He Jinchao get hurt? Could he even be harmed?

In terms of raw power, Ling Chen was confident He Jinchao wouldn’t be beaten by a rogue ghost. But since the ghost was using Zheng Linlin’s body, He Jinchao would have to hold back, reluctant to cause serious harm.

Ling Chen clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms.

Just over half a month ago, he had been an ordinary worker, a firm believer in materialism—his job was unusual, but his life had been grounded in the rational. But ever since the night he encountered He Jinchao’s soul, their fates had become intertwined.

No, he couldn’t lose his cool now.

Taking a deep breath, Ling Chen forced himself to calm down. He couldn’t just wait passively—he had to find a way to help.

But what could he do with nothing but his bare hands?

He scoured the tiny mortuary room, circling it several times. He picked up a mop, then awkwardly put it down. The room was so small, there was nothing in sight besides the tiny coffin for Yun Mei’er, a cabinet in the corner, and a wall lined with framed photos of the deceased.

A white cloth covered the frames, and the air conditioning stirred the cloth slightly. A few strands of rat hair clung to the fabric.

Rat hair… rat hair!

Ling Chen’s eyes lit up with realization. He couldn’t help directly—but Da Wu could!

He immediately dialed Hu Yizhi on a video call.

Every second of the ringing tone felt unbearably long.

“Ah, Ling Chen San-sen,” Hu Yizhi appeared on the screen, disheveled and half-asleep. “Why are you calling without warning, just like He Jinchao? Can’t we all lie down and rest peacefully?”

Ling Chen cut him off. “A ghost has possessed Zheng Linlin. He Jinchao is fighting her. Do you have any way to help?”

Hu Yizhi’s eyes widened. “Huh??”

Ling Chen: “We’ve already scattered the ghost-repelling pellets you gave us. The ghost can’t get in for now, but we need more than defense. Do you have any offensive measures?”

Hu Yizhi was overwhelmed by the flood of information and blurted out, “Wait, those pellets actually worked?”

“……….” Ling Chen felt his blood boil. “Hu! Yizhi! Did you scam us with that junk?”

Just as he was about to hang up, Hu Yizhi hurriedly stopped him. “No, no, no! I wasn’t lying… My grandma’s journal mentioned that the excrement of the Five-Family Immortal can ward off yin spirits. I just happened to have some when He Jinchao asked for help. It was my first time refining it, so I wasn’t sure how effective it would be…”

His voice grew weaker under Ling Chen’s murderous glare.

“I’ll make up for it, okay?” Hu Yizhi said desperately. “Ling-ge, show me what’s happening out there. I’ll come up with something!”

Despite being older, Hu Yizhi cowered pitifully.

Out of options, Ling Chen decided to give it a shot. The mortuary room had no windows, only a small ventilation opening at the top. He pushed the cabinet beneath it, climbed up skillfully, and aimed his phone camera outside.

The scene was chaotic—fallen trees, overturned flowerbeds, and even the memorial hall’s nameplate shattered on the ground. If the doors hadn’t been locked, the flowers inside would have been torn to pieces.

“Zheng Linlin” lay amid the wreckage, pinned beneath a heap of heavy wreaths. Cuts covered her hands and legs, and her eyes burned with resentment as she glared at He Jinchao, who hovered in mid-air.

He Jinchao’s eyes blazed with crimson light, and his face, usually so charming, was now cold and merciless. He had held back, remembering Zheng Linlin’s former partnership with him, but the ghost had no such restraint—biting, clawing, and attacking like a child throwing a tantrum.

“Uncle He, why are you stopping me?” “Zheng Linlin” screeched, her voice sharp and childish, like a spoiled brat’s tantrum on public transport. “We’re both ghosts. Why help a dead person instead of me?”

“I’m not helping Yun Mei’er,” He Jinchao replied icily. “But she’s Xiao Ling’s guest. If you cause trouble here, you’re making problems for Xiao Ling.”

“I don’t care!” “Zheng Linlin” continued screaming. She struggled violently, and the wreath that had been pressing down on her was shaken by her strange strength. Her fingernails almost split, blood dripping from her fingertips. “Let me in! I want to destroy her!”

“Her?” He Jinchao asked, pressing further. “Are you talking about Yun Meier? Do you know her?”

“Bah! Why would I know her?!” “Zheng Linlin” shrieked. “I hate her! I hate her!”

He Jinchao’s anger turned to laughter. “You hate someone you don’t even know? Why?”

“Why do I hate her? I hate everything about her!” “Zheng Linlin” screamed. “She’s dead, but why do her parents still give her a funeral? Why do so many cameras and people surround her? Why do they cry? I hate her! I hate her!”

Her words were incoherent, filled with nothing but hatred. The palpable malice poured from each syllable.

He Jinchao looked down at “Zheng Linlin,” a chord of suspicion stirring within him.

Elsewhere, Ling Chen crouched by a ventilation window, nervously watching the confrontation with his phone. Since the camera couldn’t capture He Jinchao, he focused it on Zheng Linlin, whose frenzied appearance was terrifying—her neck veins bulging, far from the serene elegance she had in the daylight.

Ling Chen, familiar with life-and-death matters, quickly understood. “I get it! Yun Meier was loved in life and mourned in death. But this little ghost died young, trapped by her host, unable to reincarnate. She’s jealous of the love Yun Meier received.”

He glanced back toward the small coffin behind him.

Inside lay Yun Meier in a princess dress, motionless, resembling a sleeping princess. While most mourned her passing, someone envied even her death.

When Ling Chen shared his realization, he expected Hu Yizhi’s agreement, but the other end remained silent.

“Hey?” Ling Chen called. “Are you still there?”

Hu Yizhi snapped out of it. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here.”

“Did you hear me?”

“I did.”

“Any thoughts?”

“My thought is…” Hu Yizhi mumbled like a sleepwalker. “Is it just me, or… is Zheng Linlin really beautiful?”

Ling Chen was dumbfounded. He couldn’t fathom how Hu Yizhi saw beauty in her twisted face.

Fortunately, Hu Yizhi returned to his senses. “By the way, my divine pellet is holding up well if no harm’s reached your place yet!”

Ling Chen sneered, “Divine pellet? You mean hamster droppings?”

“Well, no need to be crude…”

“I am crude. Deal with it.”

Desperately changing the subject, Hu Yizhi continued, “I also gave He Jinchao divine water, remember?”

“You mean hamster urine?”

“Ahem! Anyway, it’s useful for emergencies. If Zheng Linlin comes in, splash it to buy time.”

Ling Chen frowned. “Didn’t you say she couldn’t come in?”

“Precautions—”

Before he finished, Zheng Linlin pretended to weaken, then suddenly sprang free, knocking aside the heavy wreath. She dashed toward a nearby motor scooter.

“She’s escaping!” Hu Yizhi shouted. “A ghost riding a scooter!”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

Hu Yizhi frowned. “Why is there a scooter here?”

Ling Chen groaned. “Because it’s mine! My! Scooter!”

The scooter roared forward as He Jinchao tried to stop it, only for “Zheng Linlin” to roll free, sending the scooter crashing into the door of the mortuary with a loud bang.

Darkness surged inside, dispersing the weak defenses made of hamster dung.

Ling Chen snapped, “Hu Yizhi, your so-called charms suck!”

“Zheng Linlin” smirked triumphantly, racing toward the coffin. He Jinchao reacted too slowly to stop her from reaching toward Yun Meier.

In that instant, Ling Chen leapt from a storage shelf, crashing onto her.

“Ahhhh!” A scream echoed from his phone. “Ling Chen, don’t jump! I’m afraid of heights!”

The phone hit a corner and went silent.

Ling Chen focused on subduing “Zheng Linlin.” She didn’t expect his ambush, momentarily dazed. He pinned her down, ignoring gender propriety, as she had become a creature driven by hatred.

He gritted his teeth. “Zheng Linlin! Wake up! Don’t let a ghost use you as a vessel! Do you want it to ruin everything you built?”

No response. Her eyes remained void of clarity.

“You’re wasting your breath.” “Zheng Linlin” sneered. “She’s asleep. Even if she knew, she wouldn’t resist me.”

She kicked Ling Chen away, cracking her joints as she stood.

He Jinchao hovered beside Ling Chen. “Are you okay?”

Ling Chen clenched his fist around an object, glaring. “One last chance—leave her, or else.”

In his hand was a simple beanbag toy.

He’d snatched the ghost’s true form from her pocket amid the struggle—unassuming, yet the key to her power.

Its craftsmanship was quite poor, with every stitch exposed on the outside. However, each piece of fabric making up the sandbag was unique — some were as delicate and soft as a baby’s swaddle, while others were thick and rough like a school uniform. One couldn’t help but wonder how much effort went into collecting such varied materials to create this sandbag.

Typically, a small sandbag would be filled with cotton, sand, or beans. But in Ling Chen’s hand, he felt something hard — a small box buried deep in its core.

The moment “Zheng Linlin” saw the sandbag in Lin Chen’s hand, her expression shifted dramatically, and she let out a furious scream: “Give it back to me!!”

He Jinchao stepped forward, blocking Lin Chen as he coldly commanded, “Get off Zheng Linlin, or else—”

Or else — Ling Chen raised a small glass bottle in his other hand, about the size of a typical medicated oil container, filled with a faint, water-like liquid. It was exactly the “miracle water” (also known as hamster urine) that Hu Yizhi had previously mentioned. Ling Chen was thankful he hadn’t allowed He Jinchao to pour it on him back then and had kept it instead.

Though “Zheng Linlin” didn’t know what was in the bottle, the ominous aura from the liquid made her hesitate.

Seeing her motionless, Ling Chen gritted his teeth and poured the liquid onto the sandbag.

As soon as the first drop touched it, the sandbag began to corrode, with one corner melting away!

“Stop! Stop!! I’ll come out — I’ll come out now!”

Thick black smoke burst from Zheng Linlin’s orifices, gathering above her head to form a small shadow. Her body trembled, her limbs suddenly going limp as she collapsed to the floor.

He Jinchao swiftly spread a cloth beneath her, cushioning her fall so she wouldn’t hit the ground head-first.

The small ghost landed, glanced at the unconscious Zheng Linlin, and then turned her gaze sharply toward He Jinchao and Ling Chen. Stomping her foot like a petulant child, she snarled, “You hateful adults! Give me back my sandbag!”

“‘Hateful adults’? And what are you?” He Jinchao narrowed his eyes. “A lawless troublemaker?”

Ling Chen tightened his grip on the sandbag, a corner already melted away, allowing grains of sand to spill onto the ground.

“Listen, little ghost. Yun Mei’er is Yun Mei’er, and you are you. Your jealousy and resentment for another dead girl make no sense. If someone caused your death, hate them. Don’t project your hatred onto the innocent.”

“Someone caused my death… Hate them… Hate them…” The ghost mumbled the words over and over until her voice rose to a fevered pitch. “Ha! What do you know?! What do you know?! You adults are always full of excuses and reasons! And I’m the one left behind!”

Her expression twisted into madness, black smoke expanding and contracting wildly. Her form kept changing — sometimes a toddler of three or four, sometimes a school-aged girl, sometimes a baby taking unsteady steps, and sometimes a student with a backpack.

“You’ll never understand me! Only my sister understands me! Only she loves me!” she wailed, throwing herself toward Ling Chen.

He Jinchao blocked her with a wave of his hand, summoning a dense white mist to shield Ling Chen. Ling Chen had no idea how many “upgraded” tricks He Jinchao had learned. The ghost collided with the barrier repeatedly, each hit scattering more of her black smoke, even as she recklessly fought with all her strength.

Ling Chen’s eyes shifted to the coffin — the drifting black smoke was quietly gathering above Yun Mei’er’s casket!

No one had anticipated this cunning tactic. The ghost wasn’t as mindless as she seemed. She was playing a feint!

The black smoke poured into Yun Mei’er’s body. Suddenly, the girl sat bolt upright, her eyes void of life, emitting a sharp, inhuman shriek as her pale hands tore at her gown.

Her jealousy, her hatred — she wanted to destroy the funeral, to disgrace the girl her parents cherished. If she couldn’t have happiness, no one could!

He Jinchao’s expression hardened. Clasping his hands together, he summoned more mist to encircle the ghost’s shadow, trapping and compressing it in a shrinking space.

Ling Chen leapt onto the coffin cart, struggling with all his might to pin down the possessed Yun Mei’er. She was small but shockingly strong, and it took all his effort to subdue her. But before he could relax, her mouth snapped open to bite his shoulder.

“Lin!” He Jinchao, half-focused on him, flicked a finger, sending an object flying from an open makeup bag. It lodged perfectly in Yun Mei’er’s mouth.

Ling Chen broke out in a cold sweat, barely avoiding her teeth. Was this still a ghost story or a zombie film? If she bit him, would he get infected? How would he explain that at the hospital?

He glanced at what He Jinchao had used — a makeup sponge.

Every time Yun Mei’er tried to bite, He Jinchao shoved another sponge into her mouth.

Ling Chen: “…”

Practical. A versatile solution.

Working together, they had subdued the ghosts — for now. But how would they finish them off?

He Jinchao suggested, “Why not burn the ghost with Yun Mei’er during cremation?”

“Are you kidding?!” Ling Chen rejected the idea. “There’s a farewell ceremony tomorrow morning! Imagine her parents and the TV crew seeing their daughter ‘wake up.’ What do you think they’d do? Turn Workers’ Chronicles into Scientific Mysteries?”

“Right. How about cutting open the sandbag and bringing its contents to a shaman?”

Ling Chen groaned, recalling Hu Yizhi’s unreliability. He doubted the shaman would do more than kick the bag like a soccer ball.

Pulling out the sandbag, he fumbled, and it rolled far away, spilling its contents…

The sandbag rolled and rolled, eventually landing in a corner of the room, gently bumping into a hand.

That hand belonged to a young woman, but her arm and hand were covered in small, fine wounds, and her nails had bled from pressing too hard.

Her fingers twitched, and as she lay sprawled on the floor, she slowly began to regain consciousness.

She tiredly opened her eyes and instinctively grasped the sandbag that had rolled to her side.

Ling Chen: “!!!”

How could he have forgotten? Zheng Linlin was still in this room!

Zheng Linlin, confused, sat up from the floor and looked toward the only person standing in the room—“Ling Chen?”

Ling Chen: “Uh, ah, well…”

At that moment, he was holding a rope, contemplating how to tie up “Yunmei.”

Meanwhile, the supposedly dead “Yunmei” had pitch-black eyes, her mouth emitting strange noises, her limbs thrashing wildly—an unmistakable picture of someone “rising from the dead.”

Ling Chen had no idea how to explain. Should he tell Zheng Linlin that the little ghost she had been carrying around had now possessed “Yunmei’s” body?

Before he could say anything, Zheng Linlin stood up and looked into the coffin at “Yunmei.” Her gaze was not one of shock or fear but rather a mix of curiosity and deep longing—three parts cautious, seven parts wistful.

“Lulu?” she called softly. “Is that you, sister?”