“What do we do now? We can’t just stay like this forever, can we?” Brother Xiang asked through gritted teeth.  

We’d been stuck in this pitch-black forest for half an hour. During that time, we were almost possessed by that fierce ghost several times. And every time it happened, an overwhelming fatigue swept through our bodies. If this kept up, there was no telling how much longer we could last.  

“How should I know? It’s not like I expected this crap today!” Han Sifan cursed irritably. “If I’d known, I’d have brought some gear, and we wouldn’t be this helpless now!”  

“Wait, gear?” Her words jogged my memory. I suddenly thought of the Five Thunders Strike Talisman that Old Superstitious Guy had handed to me and Brother Xiang before we left. I didn’t know how powerful it was, but he had been so serious about giving it to us that I figured it must pack quite a punch.  

I quickly patted myself down, and thank goodness, I still had the talisman on me. Pulling it out, I said, “I’ve got something! Here, Sister Fan!” I handed it to Han Sifan in a hurry.  

Han Sifan took the talisman, but instead of the excitement I expected, she frowned and said, “A Five Thunders Strike Talisman? Damn it, don’t you have anything less extreme?”  

“Isn’t stronger better?” I asked, confused for a moment before it hit me—if someone without enough energy used a strong talisman, it could leave them completely drained, or worse, they might even pass out. There were even stories of people who outright kicked the bucket using one.  

“Whatever, screw it! If I die, I die!” Han Sifan muttered after a brief hesitation. Realizing there was no other choice, she swore under her breath, clutched the talisman in her right hand, and inspected a compass in her left. She added, “Listen, if I pass out after using this, get me to a hospital ASAP. It’s probably just exhaustion, no big deal. But just in case, don’t forget, alright?”  

“Five elements interact, the spell commands the six harmonies, GO!!” Han Sifan suddenly shouted. The moment the final syllable left her mouth, the talisman in her hand emitted a faint blue glow. Then, she slapped it forward with her left hand, as if striking an invisible target.  

To my surprise, though the area ahead seemed empty, the talisman landed as if it had struck something solid.  

At the same time, a figure in red was blasted out from the impact. The talisman had hit this ghost square in the face. Han Sifan collapsed to the ground, eyes rolling back, but the ghost clutched its face and let out a harrowing scream, its wails bone-chilling.  

As the ghost screamed, the surroundings reverted to the familiar scene of the bridge spanning the river.  

“Huizi, carry her! Let’s get the hell out of here. That thing won’t go down so easily!” Brother Xiang yelled, already breaking into a sprint.  

I hoisted Han Sifan onto my back and ran after him, muttering curses under my breath. “Brother Xiang, you bastard, can’t we take turns? Damn it!”  

“If she’s too heavy, just leave her,” came a faint voice from behind me.  

Startled, I asked, “Wait, Sis Fan, you’re awake?”  

“Yeah, but…” she mumbled.  

I coughed awkwardly, trying to sound noble. “A real man would never abandon a comrade in arms!”  

She went quiet after that. When I glanced back, it seemed she’d really passed out this time.  

We ran all the way back to the school gate, panting and drenched in sweat. We flagged down a taxi and headed straight for the hospital.  

The doctors checked Han Sifan over and confirmed she’d just fainted from exhaustion. Relieved, we booked a room for her to rest. But we didn’t dare leave her side, fearing the ghost might strike again.  

“Huizi, you stay and protect her. I’ll head back to school, grab some gear, and take a few days off,” Brother Xiang said before dashing out.  

I paid for an extra bed in the room, lay down, and drifted off. It was already past midnight, and I was completely wiped.  

The next morning, I was woken by the sound of voices. Rubbing my eyes, I saw a group of familiar faces—Brother Xiang, Xia Yumeng, Jin Xishan, and Xi Que—chatting away around Han Sifan, who was now awake but looked pale and haggard, her eyes bloodshot.  

“Chen Hui, how could you let this happen? Protecting Sister Fan and you end up running into robbers?” Jin Xishan scolded.  

Brother Xiang shot me a wink, and I instantly understood. So, “robbers” was the excuse we’d cooked up for being at the hospital.  

“Yeah, miss, you don’t get it. We were ambushed by, like, ten thugs. Brother Xiang and I fought them off heroically to save Sister Fan,” I said, puffing up a little.  

“Ten? Brother Xiang said it was twenty,” Jin Xishan said suspiciously.  

My face flushed as Brother Xiang coughed awkwardly. “Yeah, twenty. But Sister Fan took care of ten herself, so Hui and I only had to handle five each,” he said smoothly.  

Jin Xishan even suggested getting her dad involved to track down those “thugs,” but we quickly waved it off, saying it wasn’t worth the trouble.  

After chatting for a while, we checked out of the hospital. We grabbed lunch at a Sichuan restaurant and then parted ways with the girls, using the excuse that we needed some time to recover from the robbery incident.  

The truth? We were too terrified to go back to school. That red-clad ghost was way too powerful, and going back might drag our classmates into danger.  

Just as we were figuring out our next steps, Han Sifan handed us two plane tickets. I stared at them, confused. “Sister Fan, what’s this? Are we running off to another country?”  

“No point running. One of us is cursed, and that ghost will follow us no matter where we go. We’re heading to Chengdu. I know someone there who can deal with this thing,” she said, leading us to the airport.  

Apparently, Han Sifan knew an exorcist in Chengdu. Once we landed, she made a call to someone named Wu Zhichong, who owned a ghost-hunting shop.  

It was my first time on a plane, but with that ghost haunting us, I wasn’t in the mood to marvel at anything—though I did notice the flight attendants were gorgeous.  

By 4 PM, we arrived at Chengdu Airport, where a man was waiting for us at the exit. He looked to be in his thirties, wearing sunglasses and a sleek black suit. Behind him was a flashy red Ferrari. He wasn’t fat or skinny, and his lips carried a faint smile.  

Han Sifan, usually so brash, walked up to him respectfully, her hands clasped behind her back, and greeted him with, “Uncle Cong.”  

Brother Xiang and I quickly followed suit. “Hello, Uncle Cong!”  

At that moment, this Wu Zhichong felt to me like one of those legendary masters straight out of the stories.