IBGSW Chapter 91
Thieves Never Leave Empty-Handed
Danger was upon her.
"I'm betting on it!"
Zhao Fusheng didn't waste another word. With a thought, she pulled the substitute paper figurine out of Hell.
She released the malignant ghost, and the substitute ghost's malice instantly spread outward.
But before its ghost domain could take shape, the power of the Ghost Carriage pressed it down again.
Right then, Zhao Fusheng drew her Hell back in.
The notifications of merit being deducted stopped at once.
As Hell's shadow withdrew, before the substitute ghost could even move, red threads dropped from above the carriage and bound it tight.
The force that had been clamping down on Zhao Fusheng's body went slack all at once. She was thrown off the carriage wall onto the floor, ran a few stumbling steps forward, and stopped.
A blood-red thread looped around the substitute ghost's neck, restraining the malignant ghost's movements.
A name plaque dropped down above it, inscribed: Zhao Fusheng.
At the same moment, there was now a "Zhao Fusheng" inside the carriage, and the real Zhao Fusheng began to be rejected by the Ghost Carriage, which was now full.
With every seat taken, there was no place left for her.
Zhao Fusheng had won her bet.
With a clang, the lid over the carriage roof flipped open and a cold wind poured in.
The force of exclusion pushed Zhao Fusheng out of the carriage.
She followed that force and leapt out through the roof. Only when she stood on top of it did she realize she had never been inside a carriage at all—
The spacious compartment from before was a giant black coffin. A malignant ghost in a green robe sat at the front, driving the ghost horse, expressionlessly moving forward.
In one hand the ghost held an eerie book, in the other a Golden Bell.
It shook the bell once. A clear chime rang out, and the ghost horse seemed to find its direction, following where the ghost aimed.
The coffin lid beneath Zhao Fusheng's feet slammed shut, and the force of its closing flung her toward the ghost at the reins.
The Ghost Carriage dealt with any surplus who were "pushed out." That was also why, after years on the road, the Demon-Suppression Bureau had never turned up a single clue about it.
This sudden turn gave her a moment of terror, yet it was within her expectations.
She tried to kick off the coffin for leverage, to get away from the ghost's obliteration, but the instant her toe touched the coffin, something occurred to her and she changed her mind.
As the saying goes, a thief never leaves empty-handed.1
Fortune is sought in danger!
"I've lost a substitute paper figurine. I should at least get something back out of this, shouldn't I?"
As greed stirred in her heart, her courage grew.
Eager to try, Zhao Fusheng let the malignant ghost's power "seize" her.
The moment she drew near the driver, the ghost's gloomy, greenish face turned stiffly toward her and its mouth opened, revealing a black, bottomless cavity.
Face to face with a malignant ghost—the terror hardly needs describing.
A shudder ran over Zhao Fusheng.
She forced herself to ignore the fear and fixed all her attention on the Golden Bell clutched in the ghost's hand.
A pale ghost hand seized her by the neck, and cold raced through her whole body in an instant.
The ghost's strength was immense. It gripped her and shoved her toward its mouth.
In her eyes, the ghost's mouth swelled rapidly, stretching to a hundred times its size in an instant.
Just as she was about to be stuffed inside, she reached out and grabbed the Golden Bell in the ghost's hand.
The ghost's power backlashed.
Dang, dang, dang—
A frantic ringing rose. The ghost's aura engulfed her and her flesh was swiftly drained away; her skin collapsed inward, though the outer layer of skin remained intact, hanging loose and slack over her arm.
The malignant ghost and the bell seemed to be one; she had no way of wrenching the bell free by force.
At the critical moment, Zhao Fusheng let her arm drop. The ghost arm hidden in her hand slid out and she caught it in her palm.
The human skin that had been torn from that ghost palm fell away. She raised the ghost hand and rapped it twice against the driver's arm.
The Beggar Ghost's severed arm woke instantly, its palm opened, and it snatched the Golden Bell!
This was a hand that could demand things. When it reached out to ask for something, no one, human or ghost, could refuse!
The ghost arm's rule took effect.
In the instant the hand seized the bell, the driving ghost instinctively loosened its grip.
The Beggar Ghost's hand had the Golden Bell.
The moment the bell left the driver's palm, the malignant ghost's rule was broken.
Losing the Golden Bell outweighed "dealing with surplus passengers." The driver's gaping mouth shut, the hand gripping Zhao Fusheng's neck let go, and its free hand reached for the bell.
Saved from the brink of death, Zhao Fusheng fell rapidly; as she did, the corner of her eye passed over the ghost name register lying on the malignant ghost's lap and caught the name written on it: Zheng He.
Meanwhile, the instant the ghost arm took the bell, it began to shake wildly.
The bell's rank overpowered the ghost arm. The Beggar Ghost could demand the item, but could not command it.
The ghost arm shriveled quickly and could no longer hold the bell.
Ding-dang-dang!
As it rang, the Golden Bell dropped, and the driving ghost expressionlessly turned the carriage around.
If the bell fell back into the driver's hand, then not only would she have lost a substitute paper figurine for nothing, her ghost arm would have been damaged as well, and she'd have no chance to try again.
"I'm dead! I'm dead!"
Seeing the Ghost Carriage about to run her down, Zhao Fusheng screamed inwardly. While the bell hadn't yet landed in the driver's hand, she endured the ghost's crushing pressure, stretched out her other, unharmed hand, and caught the Golden Bell in her palm.
The instant the bell touched her hand, an extreme, icy aura wrapped around her body.
The backlash from a malignant ghost's great malevolent object was staggering—not something she could hold bare-handed at this stage.
She immediately activated Hell and drew the thunderously ringing bell into it.
The bell's clamor churned Hell, and the Investiture of the Gods prompted her:
Consume 100 merit to suppress the Shikong Ghost Bell?
Zhao Fusheng didn't hesitate: Yes!
The moment the merit was deducted, the wildly shaking bell fell silent.
Everything settled.
The bell's aura vanished from the mortal world. The ghost that had turned its head lost its target and mechanically straightened it again.
It seemed not to realize the bell was gone, and still instinctively raised a hand, making the motion of ringing it.
Without the bell to guide it, the ghost horse neighed for the first time. It had lost its direction.
Zhao Fusheng fell to the ground.
Ahead of the Ghost Carriage stood a magnificent mansion.
Horse-head walls2 enclosed it, and a gate fully three zhang high rose before Zhao Fusheng.
Lanterns hung all along the eaves; though it was night, the place was lit bright as day.
Above the gate, four large characters in seal script: Liu Clan Ancestral Hall.
The vermilion double doors stood wide, revealing a bustling scene within.
The Liu Clan's Ancestral Hall, before it had been remodeled, was spacious beyond measure inside—nothing like the street-lined sprawl it later became. Countless tables and chairs had been set out across the open ground in the middle.
Servants without number wove between the seats.
An enormous crowd of guests had come to offer birthday congratulations, all seated at the tables, eating and drinking.
In the distance she could see an opera stage, brilliantly lit, the singing in full swing.
But just before Zhao Fusheng stepped down from the Ghost Carriage, something seemed to go wrong inside: someone screamed, shouting that there was a ghost, and drew everyone's attention.
At the door, the steward—dressed festively, about to welcome guests in for the birthday wine—turned his head to look inside.
A strange man in a black robe had stood up. He took a person's head off and set it onto his own neck.
As if sensing a gaze from outside, the malignant ghost, having just fitted the head on, instinctively tried to turn.
A terrifying ghost pressure rushed at her face.
Under the ghost's gaze, a pounding dread welled up in her heart.
……
Just then, the once-lavish mansion began to turn transparent.
The lights faded gradually; the piercing screams and wails stretched away into the distance and thinned out.
The steward, his face changed drastically, grew faint and vanished; the vermilion doors and red walls disappeared, replaced by a dark alley and low, run-down houses on either side.
Two scenes from two different eras overlapped uncannily in this night, at this hour. The eerie spacetime tugged at Zhao Fusheng's consciousness, as if each were fighting to keep her.
"Here to offer birthday wishes to Master Liu, are you, guest?"
In the Liu Clan's Ancestral Hall of forty years ago, a servant boy in a small green cap and servant's robe smiled at her and said:
"Please, come right in."
"Huff—huff—huff—"
Zhao Fusheng gasped for breath. She wanted to refuse, but after the man's invitation she found herself helplessly stepping toward the ancestral hall gate.
Her heart was in a panic, and what remained of her reason forced her to retreat.
The two timelines were fighting over her at once. The malignant ghost's gaze had branded terror onto her mind, badly disrupting her judgment and sending her into a brief trance.
Just as she walked like a corpse, body dazed and out of her control, toward the gate of the Liu Clan's Ancestral Hall—
Someone behind her suddenly bellowed:
"Who's there!"
That shout wiped away the eeriness of the overlapping eras. Zhao Fusheng's consciousness, as if hearing a bell toll across an empty mountain in the midst of chaos, was struck like a blow to the head and snapped back to reality.
The Ghost Carriage had stopped at the gate of the Liu Clan's Ancestral Hall of forty years ago. The hanging lanterns vanished one by one, like starlight veiled by cloud.
The vermilion gate and walls had their color stripped away by swiftly fleeting time, replaced by low, dilapidated alleys.
Zhao Fusheng stumbled back several steps, gulping air, heart still racing.
She turned her head. Her heart slammed so hard against her ribs that the sound nearly drowned out everything around her.
The sky was just growing light. About two zhang away stood a tall figure holding a long staff, watching her with wariness and unease.
Saved from the brink of death, it took her a while for her eyes to regain focus and recognize him:
"Yizhen, it's me!"
Her voice was still trembling as she spoke. When Liu Yizhen, staff raised, heard her speak, he let out a long breath of relief.
The young man hesitated a moment, but still strode forward:
"Why are you still here?"
"I—"
What had happened was too much to explain. Zhao Fusheng's lips had barely moved before she stopped the words about to leave her mouth, then looked at Liu Yizhen:
"Why are you here?"
Seeing that she answered with a question, Liu Yizhen was silent a long while before saying:
"Something stirred in the Confucian temple."
"What stirred?" Zhao Fusheng thought of the Ghost Carriage's arrival.
After she boarded, the carriage had taken her to the Liu Clan's Ancestral Hall of forty years ago to wish Liu Huacheng a happy birthday.
Because they were in different times, Beggars' Alley forty years on couldn't see the Ghost Carriage. But with the carriage appearing there, the Headless Ghost and Liu Huacheng of forty years ago would surely both have seen the unexpected visitor.
And now, forty years later, facing the visitor from that time—
"Liu Huacheng and the Headless Ghost stirred?" A thought turned in her mind and she asked it aloud.
Liu Yizhen's normally expressionless face cracked. He asked, almost shocked out of composure:
"How do you know that?"
So that was it!
Zhao Fusheng's heart sank.
"I can't tell you the reason for now." Seeing Liu Yizhen frown, she explained:
"This is something you can't hear. Once I tell you, you'll be marked by the malignant ghost, and then things get even harder to handle."
At first Liu Yizhen thought she was guarded and unwilling to tell him certain things.
Hearing this, he understood her intent at once.
He had lived this long and dealt with ghosts; he knew well how terrifying they were, and understood that some things could be heard and some could not.
"Then don't say it," he said at once.
Zhao Fusheng nodded.
Liu Yizhen said:
"After you left yesterday evening, it wasn't long before the Demon-Suppression Bureau's carriage came for you. They said they'd gone to Meng Po's stall and missed you, and hadn't found you."
At the time Liu Yizhen had assumed she had other business to attend to, and had left on her own.
She was a ghost-controller.
On the surface, at least, in Wan'an County she could throw her weight around.
Nobody had guessed she'd come to harm, and Liu Yizhen hadn't taken this small incident to heart.
Not until daybreak, when he found all three ghosts in the temple acting strangely!
"The Beggar Ghost's ghost aura has weakened, while the aura of my grandfather's corpse and of the Headless Ghost in the ghost coffin have both stirred."
At the time, ghost fog had spread through the Confucian temple.
The shift had scared Liu Yizhen into a cold sweat from head to toe; he thought all three ghosts were about to revive at once.
Luckily, a moment later the fog dispersed, and the two great ghosts that had been on the verge of reviving fell quiet again.
After it happened, the first person he suspected was Paperman Zhang!
That man had thievery in his blood, was full of schemes, and had long harbored designs on the ghost coffin.
The moment he thought of this, Liu Yizhen raised his staff and began patrolling Beggars' Alley.
He hadn't gone far when he saw a figure in the distance. He said:
"I called out, and you answered."
Zhao Fusheng knew very well why the three ghosts had stirred. Still shaken, she pressed a hand to her wildly pounding heart and said:
"It has nothing to do with Paperman Zhang. The balance in Beggars' Alley was nearly broken."
Who knew where the Ghost Carriage had come from—it had actually been able to forcibly break the absolute balance between two great malevolent ghosts, Liu Huacheng and the Headless Ghost.
And the Beggar Ghost's weakened aura was probably the backlash from her using the ghost arm to steal the Golden Bell.
"……"
Liu Yizhen gave her a long, deep look.
If she could explain the state of the Confucian temple, she must know something of the inside story. Add to that her saying she couldn't tell him because it would bring the ghost's mark, and Liu Yizhen understood at once that she'd run into a ghost calamity last night.
The Goutou Village case had barely ended, and now she'd met another.
His gaze settled on Zhao Fusheng. Her arms hung limp and she looked tired, but beyond that her expression was resolute and her eyes sharp.
If he hadn't faintly sensed her aura in disarray, and the faint lingering palpitation of someone who'd just met a ghost on her face, Liu Yizhen might not have been able to tell at all that she'd dealt with ghosts.
Ghost-controllers rarely escape the backlash of a ghost's power.
To shake two great malevolent ghosts like Liu Huacheng and the Headless Ghost, the calamity she'd met was clearly no ordinary one. How had she escaped it unscathed?
A great wave rose in Liu Yizhen's heart, all kinds of frightening thoughts flashing through his mind.
He was even baffled by Zhao Fusheng's very existence.
Now many people in Wan'an County were watching her. Anyone with the slightest connection knew her origins: a pawn once held by the Fan brothers, meant to be a scapegoat taking the fall, who by a twist of fate had managed to control a ghost and in the end turned the tables, taking command of the Demon-Suppression Bureau.
A nobody who'd emerged from desperate straits had, in a short time, quickly steadied a Wan'an County that was supposed to be out of control.
She had shown extraordinary talent for handling ghost cases.
By the timeline, she was clearly still a newcomer, yet she kept making it out of ghost cases alive.
A strange idea rose in Liu Yizhen's mind: could there really be a prodigy in the world at dealing with ghosts, and was Zhao Fusheng the savior of Wan'an County at this very moment?
Tactfully, he didn't ask further about last night, only probed indirectly:
"Then is the situation stable now?"
Zhao Fusheng's face turned serious, and for a moment she didn't know how to answer.
After some hesitation, she shook her head, her expression a little guarded:
"Hard to say."
