Chapter Twenty: The Unruly Visitor

Zhang Hu burst out laughing, teasing,
"Kid, you've got some nerve—first day on the job and you already have your eye on someone. That girl is Willow Yang from Workshop Two. If you fancy her, your Uncle Zhang will play matchmaker and find you a wife."
"Uncle Zhang, how can you say such things? Don't make fun of me," Cui Yue protested, waving his hands in annoyance.
"Oho, look at that, the boy's blushing," Zhang Hu said, lighting a cigarette and laughing heartily.

As the girl named Willow Yang approached, Cui Yue felt his heart drifting with her. The old saying about beauty being food for the soul rang true; at that moment, he felt utterly sated and wished he could steal a few more glances.

Zhang Hu leaned in close to Cui Yue's ear and whispered, "Cui Yue, don't you notice something strange about her today?"
Cui Yue replied irritably, "How should I know what's strange? It's my first time seeing her."
"No, usually she's all smiles, showing her little tiger teeth. But today, her face is deathly pale, cold as ice."
"Pale? She does look a bit white, maybe she's just feeling unwell. What does it have to do with us? You really are too nosy," Cui Yue thought to himself, wondering if everyone in the security department was this gossipy.
"That's not it!" Zhang Hu exclaimed, "The girl has been possessed."
"Possessed?"
Cui Yue stared at Zhang Hu, half skeptical. He'd heard the term before, stories from elders about ghost possession, but he'd never seen it firsthand. Was Zhang Hu just making things up to mess with him?

Seeing Cui Yue's disbelief, Zhang Hu grabbed his hand and covered one eye, urging him,
"Look for yourself, pay attention to her feet. Watch closely."

Cui Yue widened his eyes, scrutinizing Willow Yang's white sneakers. He immediately noticed something uncanny—her face was expressionless, her gaze vacant, and she walked on tiptoe, slow and deliberate, her red dress billowing gently in the breeze. From the side, she wasn't walking at all—it was as if she was floating, gliding along.

Startled, Cui Yue stepped back, swallowing nervously and looking to Zhang Hu for reassurance.
Zhang Hu leaned in again, speaking low,
"Ordinary people don't walk on tiptoe. If you see someone acting strangely and walking like that, they've definitely been possessed. If their feet don't touch the ground, then it's—well..."
"Then it's what?" Cui Yue asked urgently.

"It's a ghost, what else?"
Zhang Hu replied irritably.
"A ghost?"
Cui Yue nearly choked, recalling some terrifying stories and shivering all over.

Seeing the girl in the red dress coming closer, his anxiety spiked, and he almost shouted,
"Hey, you..."
Zhang Hu quickly covered Cui Yue's mouth, scolding in a low voice,
"You fool, do you want to kill her?"
"I just wanted to get her attention, warn her," Cui Yue mumbled.
"Warn her? If you shout like that, you'll ruin her. If someone possessed is startled, they could end up bedridden, or worse—lose their mind. Are you helping or hurting her?"
Zhang Hu reprimanded.

Cui Yue understood now—Zhang Hu was right, the old saying warned against disturbing those who were possessed. His urgency almost triggered a disaster, forgetting this vital taboo.

He dared not act rashly anymore and whispered, "Uncle Zhang, what should we do, is there any way to help her?"
"When she comes over, stop her gently, speak softly as you would to anyone, and ask her to come with us to the security office."
"But will she... you know..."
Cui Yue felt uneasy; who wouldn't be afraid in such a situation? But he didn't want Zhang Hu to mock him.
"Don't worry, it'll be fine. Just do as I say, it's only possession," Zhang Hu reassured him.

Just then, the girl in the red dress arrived at the factory gate.
Cui Yue took a deep breath, summoned his courage, and stepped forward,
"Uh, excuse me, could you come over for a moment?"

He could hear the tremor in his own voice, embarrassed by his nervousness.
Yet, strangely, Willow Yang seemed not to hear him at all, nor did she see him—as if he were nothing but air before her. She continued walking, her eyes vacant, devoid of any spirit.

Cui Yue dared not reach out and grab her, for fear of startling or failing to restrain her.

While he stood there, helpless, Zhang Hu's voice rang in his ear,
"Who are you? Where are you going?"
The words were firm, resonant, carrying a strange authority.

The girl in the red dress jerked in surprise, turning to look at Zhang Hu with fear and dread.
Without waiting for her reaction, Zhang Hu grabbed her by the back like an eagle snatching a chick, half dragging, half pushing her into the security office. Oddly, Willow Yang barely protested, only whimpering softly as she obediently entered.

Cui Yue was so astonished he stood frozen like a fool.
Zhang Hu shot him a glare and jerked his chin, snapping Cui Yue out of it, who hurried into the security office.

No sooner had they entered than Willow Yang slipped from Zhang Hu's grasp, darting around the room, hiding and shouting as she fled.

Cui Yue managed to grab her, but she slapped him so hard he almost went flying out the window. His face burned, tears and snot streaming down. Amid the chaos, he managed to grab her again, trying to restrain her, but the slight Willow Yang hoisted him sideways and threw him onto the spring bed with astonishing strength.

With a crash, Cui Yue landed heavily, rolling to the floor, winded and struggling to get up.
"Good grief, Zhang Hu said she'd be fine, but she's nearly broken my bones. She's no girl—she's a wild calf," Cui Yue thought as he gasped for breath.

Zhang Hu chased after them, and strangely, Willow Yang seemed especially afraid of him. Whenever Zhang Hu approached, she ran wildly, leaping about, never letting him get close. She didn't fight him, just kept running and whimpering.

Cui Yue was filled with curiosity—just who was Zhang Hu? A Taoist from Mount Mao? A master of yin and yang? He certainly seemed to have skills for dealing with spirits; ordinary ghosts wouldn't dare approach him.

As he pondered, Willow Yang found herself cornered. Zhang Hu seized the moment, catching her and tying her to a chair with a hemp rope. Willow Yang alternated between crying and laughing, kicking her legs, muttering words no one could understand.