Chapter Eighty-Three: Not a Ghost, but a Walking Corpse

Yang Liu’s delicate face had gone deathly pale. As she walked along the road, she kept glancing nervously from side to side, her body trembling faintly like a bird startled from the bowstring, afraid that if she let her guard down for even an instant, that monster would burst out from some shadow and come after her again. Clutching Cui Yue’s sleeve, she refused to let go no matter what.

“Cui Yue, what exactly was that monster we ran into tonight?”

“Stop imagining things. It was just your hallucination. There was nothing there.”

Cui Yue did not want to frighten the girl any further and answered with a careless excuse.

“A hallucination? How could that be? When I looked up, he was standing right behind you.”

Why was this girl so stubborn? Cui Yue thought to himself, though aloud he said,

“Yes, exactly. It was your hallucination. In truth there was nothing at all. It was just the middle of the night, and you scared yourself.”

“Don’t try to brush me off, and don’t even think about lying to me. How could I have seen wrong? That old man at the little convenience shop saw it too. Don’t even think about arguing. What happened? Tell me! If you won’t tell me, I’m going to the police. You lied! That person clearly had no head!”

Yang Liu suddenly stopped walking and pouted, clearly annoyed.

Cui Yue could only smile bitterly in his heart. Little miss, can you please stop asking until you reach the bottom of the barrel? Could he tell her that the monster was a corpse escaped from the projection hall, or explain what had happened in that hall, how he had nearly been swallowed whole by that painted-skin ghost? Maybe the monster you saw tonight could even have been me. If he told her these things, it would only frighten and worry her. Why could she not understand that?

At the thought that he himself had been turned into that ghastly thing, Cui Yue could not help shivering, a chill running down his back.

“What we ran into tonight wasn’t a person. It was a ghost!” Cui Yue said helplessly.

“A ghost?” Yang Liu’s eyes flew wide open, full of disbelief and a trace of fear.

Cui Yue glanced at her and muttered inwardly, what are you staring for? What is there to make such a fuss about? Weren’t you the one possessed by a ghost that day, and didn’t Zhang Hu give you a proper beating with his belt?

A cold gust swept past, and Yang Liu shuddered, hurriedly wrapping both arms around Cui Yue’s, refusing to let go.

Cui Yue only felt his arm sink into two soft, pillowy clouds, elastic and yielding, while quick, uneven heartbeats pulsed against him.

Uh...

Cui Yue nearly shot out a nosebleed again. Did this girl not realize she was practically inviting crime?

Only after a great effort did he steady his mind, then casually made up a string of nonsense, passing off the blood corpse they had encountered tonight as some wandering spirit from who knew where.

He kept fabricating lies for quite a while before finally managing to talk Yang Liu out of her fear.

Yang Liu was so terrified upon hearing that ghosts were real that her face turned paper-white, and even her voice trembled with tears. She clung to Cui Yue’s arm and would not let go, fearing a ghost might snatch her away. Cui Yue spent a long while soothing her emotions, coaxing and deceiving her at once, until he finally managed to escort her home.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead and could not help shaking his head with a sigh. Women were such a headache. Yet when he recalled the scene from tonight, when they had been of one heart and one mind, he found himself grinning stupidly alone beneath the moonlight.

He was still musing when, all at once, his shoulder sank under a sudden weight. Alarm flared in his heart, his eyelid jerked, and he nearly leaped five yards away.

He no longer had time to think. With a flip of his wrist, he drew the small peach-wood sword and stabbed outward.

A white blur flashed before his eyes, and his wrist was seized; he could not move.

“Ah! Help—” Before Cui Yue could even shout, someone softly spoke near his ear.

“Don’t make a sound. It’s me!”

Cui Yue steadied himself and looked closely. Seeing the white shirt before him, he finally realized that it was none other than the bespectacled oddball, Qingquan, whom he had been thinking of day and night.

Calling it thinking of him day and night was not an exaggeration. At the very least, with Qingquan by his side, Cui Yue felt secure; his personal safety was practically entrusted entirely to that bespectacled fellow.

Phew.

Cui Yue let out a heavy breath of stale air, still shaken.

“People scare each other to death, you know. You have no idea what I just ran into. If it hadn’t been for that peach-wood sword you gave me, my life would already be over.”

Cui Yue recounted everything that had just happened to the bespectacled one in careful detail. Of course, he added a little embellishment, painting himself as a divine warrior descending with thunderous might, brutally crushing the blood corpse and beating it into a headless, frantic mess. There was not the slightest hint in his story that he had nearly lost his life.

Qingquan’s brows knitted faintly. He was equally astonished, though not at Cui Yue’s supposed brilliance and extraordinariness, but at the painted-skin old ghost’s terrifying strength. To think it had so easily refined the unlucky fellow from the projection hall into a blood corpse. That day had truly been a matter of luck; otherwise the entire group would have perished at the hands of that old ghost.

The situation was grave. But why had this blood corpse clung to Cui Yue so stubbornly? The painted-skin old ghost lurking in the shadows was the real problem. It would be best to find his lair as soon as possible and root out the danger once and for all. The only clue at present was the blood corpse Cui Yue kept mentioning. Perhaps if they found him, the matter would finally become clear.

Meanwhile, Cui Yue had been spraying spittle everywhere as he finally reached the part where he had supposedly delivered a thunderous strike and kicked the brute’s head apart. Only then did he realize that Qingquan had not been listening to him at all; his face was full of worry, and he had no idea what he was thinking about.

Cui Yue lowered his head and felt around in his pocket. Suddenly remembering something, his expression changed. His eyes grew flirtatious and silk-smooth as he stared fixedly at Qingquan, letting out a few awkward chuckles.

Qingquan grew deeply uncomfortable under those eyes, a prickling unease rising on his skin. He had a vague feeling that this kid was up to no good.

“Daoist Master Qingquan...”

“Uh... what is it?” Even Qingquan thought his own voice sounded weak.

Cui Yue suddenly leaned close to him with a flattering smile.

“Well, those talismans you left me last time worked really well. Could you leave me a few dozen more?”

Qingquan nearly passed out on the spot, his vision darkening.

Worked well? Of course they worked well. They were drawn and empowered with my own vital blood essence; naturally their power was considerable. Do you think I’m a printing press? Ask me to turn out dozens for you at the drop of a hat, and before I even finish, my blood essence will be drained dry and I’ll be off to pay my respects to the Three Pure Ones ahead of schedule.

Qingquan’s eyes rolled white as he mumbled,

“Uh... next time... if there’s a chance, I’ll refine a few more for you.”

Cui Yue was utterly disappointed. He had no idea why this bespectacled fellow was so stingy over a handful of talismans. Still, he did not dare say much. In any case, he still needed the glasses-wearing one; at this point, Qingquan was practically his life-preserving breastplate.

Creak, creak.

The wind drew nearer, and from afar came the occasional rustle of leaves brushing together.

That thing wouldn’t come out again to harm people, would it?

Cui Yue looked around uneasily, his heart drumming.

If one were to call it a ghost, that would not be entirely right.

This creature was not a ghost but a revenant. It had been an innocent dead soul, and after its three souls and seven spirits were directly refined by the old painted-skin ghost, the ghostly miasma and revenant poison had long since transformed its corpse into something mutated. It had now become a true blood corpse. Only, because it had formed too recently, it lacked strength and had not yet become a serious threat.