Chapter Thirty: A Startling Dream

Bang!

Fang Yi was literally kicked out the door. Several ghosts seized him and threw him out unceremoniously.

Shen Chang’an hadn’t left; he simply stood at the entrance, quietly waiting for Fang Yi to be thrown out.

“Well, Mr. Fang, how courteous of you,” Shen Chang’an said.

Fang Yi landed sprawled at Shen Chang’an’s feet, looking for all the world as if he were kneeling before him. Embarrassed, he scrambled to his feet, his face twisted as if suffering from constipation. After a long pause, he finally managed to say, “Mr. Shen, your previous proposal… it’s not entirely unacceptable…”

“Five hundred. You pay the utilities. I’ll handle my own internet.”

Fang Yi was deeply disgruntled, but thinking of what was inside the apartment, he had no choice but to agree. “Let’s… let’s sign the contract as you suggested, Mr. Shen.”

Shen Chang’an nodded. “Go prepare the contract. In the meantime, I’ll move in.”

“The contract is already prepared. I’ll just adjust the price.”

“Fine,” Shen Chang’an said, nodding again. “Just bring it over.”

Right there in the corridor, they amended the price, signed their names, and pressed their fingerprints.

“Well then, Mr. Shen, you can move in now. I… I have things to attend to, so I’ll be going,” Fang Yi said, still feeling resentful. Yet, the thought of Shen Chang’an being tormented by that swarm of ghosts and eventually coming to him for help soothed his mood somewhat.

In Fang Yi’s mind, Shen Chang’an must have gotten wind of the apartment’s issues somewhere and was using it as a pretext for extortion. But the young man likely had no idea just how terrifying the ghosts truly were. By the time he wanted to back out, it would be too late.

Fang Yi had been plagued by these resentful spirits for a while. On someone’s advice, he set up a small feng shui array in the apartment. Once a contract was sealed with Shen Chang’an, it wouldn’t matter whether he actually lived there or not—the spirits would cling to him regardless, so long as he remained in the city. There would be no escape.

What Fang Yi didn’t realize was that this very mindset was exactly why Shen Chang’an chose to make things difficult for him. Had Fang Yi simply been afraid and wanted to rent out the apartment, Shen Chang’an might have banished the ghosts, left, and not taken advantage of him. But knowing the danger and deliberately passing the harm onto someone else, Fang Yi was asking for trouble—and Shen Chang’an was more than willing to oblige.

Shen Chang’an never showed mercy to those who harmed others.

Returning to Apartment 901, Shen Chang’an pushed open the door. The moment he entered, the world changed. The surroundings transformed into a nightmarish scene of blood and horror—countless wretched souls lying everywhere, with blood pooling across the floor as if it cost nothing to spill, creating a revolting sight.

Shen Chang’an stood his ground and spoke calmly, “Let’s set some rules. From now on, in this apartment, you’re to appear normal. No showing off your gruesome deaths, and no illusions like these. If you understand, withdraw it now.”

But nothing changed. The bloody scene persisted.

Shaking his head, Shen Chang’an said nothing further. He took out a talisman for warding off evil and casually placed it atop the shoe cabinet.

A low hum filled the air. Instantly, the gory illusion vanished. A ghostly figure fell from midair, trying to raise its head, but was pressed down by an unseen force, unable to move.

Ignoring it, Shen Chang’an moved deeper inside. At each spot, he stuck another talisman—no need to activate them with magic, for their inherent power was enough to suppress these spirits.

If he had been dealing with Ghost Infant Zhou Yu, or a malevolent spirit like Madame Li, his efforts would have been laughably ineffective. But these minor ghosts, having died within the last three years and unable to absorb yin energy in the human world, could each be suppressed for a month by a single talisman.

Once all the talismans were in place, the apartment was clean and peaceful, with not a trace of its former trouble.

Shen Chang’an carried his luggage into the master bedroom, unpacked his clothes, and arranged them neatly in the wardrobe.

“Let me go! Let me go!” wailed the female ghost who had jumped to her death, her shrill cries echoing as he worked. But Shen Chang’an had already withdrawn his magical power, appearing as a mere mortal. Unless a ghost touched him directly—which those suppressed by the talismans could not—he sensed nothing.

With his clothes put away, Shen Chang’an returned to the living room. He moved a few pieces of glass and the items in the fish tank, and instantly, a cool, refreshing breeze seemed to sweep through the room, dispelling the lingering chill.

He didn’t know much about feng shui, but with his magical vision, he could easily spot where the yin energy accumulated. Setting up a feng shui array was troublesome, but dismantling it was easy—just move the right things. Of course, these were only simple arrays. If it were a grand, natural formation, it would have taken profound skill and power to alter.

After straightening up the living room, Shen Chang’an took out his phone and sent his address to Chen Mengchen, telling her to bring the blood of the mountain demon as soon as she could.

He hadn’t been in a hurry before, but now he wanted to purchase proper talisman paper, vermillion ink, and a wolf-hair brush. Using the mountain demon’s blood, he intended to draw a powerful talisman, hang it in the center of the apartment, and suppress the ghosts for several weeks.

Chen Mengchen was slightly surprised to hear his address. In her impression, Shen Chang’an didn’t seem like someone who could afford a place like this. But then she recalled his feat of subduing the mountain demon, and thought—someone like him living in a high-end development was hardly surprising.

After sending the message, Shen Chang’an ignored Chen Mengchen and tidied up a bit more, took a shower, and then lay on his bed, flipping through a Daoist scripture. Soon, sleep claimed him.

Yet that night, his rest was anything but peaceful.

In his dreams, he seemed to return to his hometown, once again standing before Old Man Li’s grave. He was making offerings, and after bowing once, he looked up to see the ancient beast-hide book appear before him.

The pages rustled, turning of their own accord.

“Wandering evil spirit, devourer of souls—execute without delay!”

From the ancient tome sprang a tattered, terrifying spirit, which lunged at Shen Chang’an, its hands reaching for him.

Startled, Shen Chang’an tried to pull out a talisman, only to find his hands empty.

The spirit’s hands plunged into his chest, seizing his heart.

Just as fear overwhelmed him and he struggled to act, Shen Chang’an suddenly awoke, his eyes snapping open.

“Was I… dreaming?”

Puzzled, he checked himself over but found nothing amiss.

“It must be exhaustion,” he murmured, wiping the cold sweat from his brow.

Unbeknownst to him, the female ghost who had leapt to her death cowered in the corner, staring in terror at his bed. In her ghostly vision, a tattered scrap of cloth remained on the bed. But as a ray of sunlight spilled into the room, the fragment dissolved into nothingness.