Chapter Sixty-Seven: The Incantation to Banish Ghosts

Zhang Hao ran in circles around the screening room, gasping for breath, his legs nearly giving out from exhaustion. When he turned around, he almost fainted with rage—Cui Yue and the others stood rooted to the spot like fools, eyes wide, staring at him, making no attempt to escape. Were they waiting for the evil ghost to make them its next meal?

“Cui Yue, you idiot, for heaven’s sake, run! Are you just going to stand there and wait to die?” Zhang Hao shouted as he kept running, his breath heavy and ragged.

Qingquan’s eyes remained fixed on the large screen, his hand gripping a steel pen, his voice grave. “It’s useless. This ghost is vicious and cunning. The eight gates here are tightly shut; there’s no way out.”

The eight gates refer to the eight directional portals of the Bagua: the Gate of Rest, Life, Injury, Blockage, View, Death, Fright, and Opening. When all eight gates are sealed, qi flow is cut off. The simplest analogy is that invisible walls have been erected everywhere—you can’t see or touch them, no matter which way you run, you’ll find yourself blocked, unable to return to the right track, and ultimately back where you started.

To Cui Yue, it felt just like the phenomenon people call “ghost walls”—being trapped and unable to escape.

Zhang Hao could run no further. Sweat poured off him, his calves cramped, and he was close to foaming at the mouth. Yet he still couldn’t get out.

He collapsed onto Cui Yue’s shoulder, panting heavily, gesturing with his hand. “Cui—Cui Yue, I really can’t run anymore. No matter how I try, there’s no way out. Either way, it’s death. Dying from running is just too exhausting.”

“You’ve got some nerve saying that! When disaster struck, you left us behind and bolted first. You ran like a champion—I never knew you were a rising star in the national track and field team. If you drop dead from running, you deserve it. How did I end up saving a thankless wretch like you?” Cui Yue glared at Zhang Hao with disdain, cursing him.

Zhang Hao’s dark face flushed. He knew he’d acted disgracefully; in his panic, he only thought of saving himself, forgetting about Cui Yue and the others. He hadn’t even called out, just took off. Yet he tried to argue, “I was just being a vanguard for socialism, scouting ahead for us! If I’d managed to escape through the door, I’d have come back with reinforcements by now. Our predecessors taught us to overthrow all evil spirits and demons…”

Cui Yue couldn’t stand Zhang Hao’s shamelessness any longer. He shoved Zhang Hao off his shoulder and shot him a long, exasperated look. “Never mind whether you could come back and save us, or bring reinforcements, or overthrow all evil spirits. Come on—stand at attention, face the old ghost on the screen, and show me how you defeat a single demon!”

Zhang Hao stared at the evil ghost on the screen, swallowed hard, and his bravado instantly collapsed.

It wasn’t that he lacked courage, but the ghost stood guard, and if he rushed in, he’d end up with nothing but legs and intestines left.

Life is precious; love even more so.

Since love was out of reach for now, life had to be cherished above all.

Gazing at the grisly fate of the previous victim, Zhang Hao drew in a sharp breath. Without a doubt, his own body would be flattened like a pancake by the evil ghost.

Qingquan interrupted the group, his expression tense. “Careful, it’s about to make its move.”

Cui Yue hurriedly pulled out the peachwood sword he’d brought earlier, gripping it tightly in his palm, his eyes locked on the giant screen, afraid the painted-skin ghost might suddenly leap out.

Zhang Hao glanced at the peachwood sword in Cui Yue’s hand, his eyes lighting up. “Well, look at that—he even brought a weapon! Where did he steal that wooden sword, from a three-year-old? It’s useless!”

Zhang Hao looked around for something handy, but found nothing. At last, he grabbed half a stool leg, held it across his chest, seeking some comfort.

They hadn’t even steadied themselves when the screen flickered. The painted-skin ghost’s green eyes widened, and a monstrous hand reached straight toward the center of the screen.

With a screech, the screen seemed like a transparent glass pane, and the furry monster hand actually extended through it—the black hair on its arm was clearly visible.

Cui Yue and the others were petrified, watching as the ghostly hand reached through the screen toward them, too tense to react.

Three quick swishes.

In that moment, Qingquan proved the fastest. As the monster hand reached out, he sketched three talismans with his pen on a notebook and threw them.

“By the power of the Heavenly Path, light shines upon the mysterious darkness. With this talisman, break the curse, destroy the ghost’s form, vanquish the soul, show no mercy—go!”

The three slips of paper seemed to sprout wings, transforming into a blaze of light and shooting straight at the monster hand in the screen’s center.

A sizzling roar followed.

The monster hand recoiled as if seared by fire, most of its black hair burned away, and it quickly withdrew!

The painted-skin ghost hastily extinguished the flames on its arm, its green eyes glaring fiercely at Qingquan. With bared fangs, it spoke, “Filthy priest, you dare provoke me? It’s been ages since I tasted a Daoist’s flesh. Tonight, I’ll feast on your heart and lungs, hahahaha!”

The painted-skin ghost’s voice boomed through the speakers like thunder, chilling everyone to the bone.

Qingquan was stunned. These three talismans were secret exorcism spells from the Tai Bai Immortal Sect. With his cultivation, ordinary spirits would have been obliterated. Yet this evil ghost wasn’t even fazed—just lost a few hairs.

A few… hairs…

Moreover, this ghost had awakened intelligence and possessed deep power. Even his sect’s three elders would need to act together to stand a chance. Then another thought struck him—why was the fox demon here alongside this painted-skin ghost? What connection did they share? The situation was riddled with mysteries.

But now, with danger imminent, Qingquan had no time to ponder and could only take things step by step.

Cui Yue and the others witnessed the bespectacled eccentric’s dazzling display—three talismans flying out, instantly forcing back the monster hand. Their spirits lifted, thinking the glasses-wearer could fight the evil ghost, giving them a bit of confidence.

Of course, only Qingquan knew the truth, and could only shake his head with a bitter smile.

The painted-skin ghost didn’t even consider the group before it as worthy opponents; in its ghastly green eyes, they were mere appetizers.

“Da Zhuang, I feel like that ghost keeps staring at me—it’s making my skin crawl.”

“It’s not staring at you—it’s staring at all of us.”

“Oh brother, move! That furry monkey ghost is coming out again!”

With a stomp, the painted-skin ghost let out a howl, its hairy arms ripping open a fissure in the space. It stretched forward, ready to crawl through.

Zhang Hao watched as a thin crack split the screen, a pair of horns poking out from the fissure, his heart pounding in terror. His hand shook, and he dropped the stool leg, which flew straight at those horns, hitting them dead-on—yet failing to do any damage at all.