Chapter Sixty-Three: The Search

“Lin Xue! Lin Xue!” Fang Min, Zhang Song, and Fang Yong called out as they continued their search. Suddenly, a cat’s cry caught their attention. Following the sound, they saw a black cat slowly approaching. “Isn’t this the black cat Lin Xue was holding?” Fang Min seemed to recognize it and hurried forward to scoop the cat into her arms. “Where’s Lin Xue?” The three of them scanned the surroundings, but Lin Xue was nowhere to be found.

“Could something have happened to her?”

“Don’t jinx it. Keep looking!”

“I just hope nothing bad has happened.”

The three of them searched through the entire night, but even as dawn broke, there was still no sign of Lin Xue. The next day, they called the police, and together searched the small forest, but Lin Xue had vanished without a trace.

“You see? We’ve already encountered a ghost once, yet you wanted to play this game!” Zhang Song grumbled as he lit another cigarette.

“What’s the use of blaming Fang Min now? What’s done is done—we have to find a way to solve this!” Fang Yong pulled Fang Min into his arms to comfort her.

“So what do we do now?” Zhang Song asked.

“Let’s head back to the inn and figure it out from there,” Fang Yong said, leading Fang Min away. Zhang Song followed without another word.

Once inside, silence hung between them. Too much had happened in the past two days, and exhaustion pressed down on them all.

“It’s my fault, Lin Xue…” Fang Min blamed herself bitterly.

“Don’t blame yourself. We’ll find a way,” Fang Yong tried to reassure her.

“What way?” Zhang Song sounded utterly defeated.

“Enough, let’s all get some rest. We’re all worn out,” Fang Yong said, and led Fang Min back to their room.

“What way could there possibly be?” Zhang Song muttered, chain-smoking and flicking cigarette butts to the floor. His gaze landed on the “Paranormal Journal” Fang Min had left on the table, and a spark of interest lit in his eyes. “All of this started with this book. Maybe there’s a solution in here.” He opened the journal, which was filled with peculiar methods for seeing ghosts and basic exorcism rites. Flipping through at random, one particular page caught his eye. “This is it. I’ll give it a try.”

That night, Zhang Song went out alone, carrying a takeaway pork knuckle rice meal from a nearby convenience store, three sticks of sandalwood incense, and some joss paper. At a crossroads, he prepared for the ritual he’d read about in the journal—a method for questioning ghosts.

There are many ways to ask questions of spirits—like the spirit of the pen, the spirit of the saucer, or the spirit of the bowl—but the success rate at a crossroads is higher. Crossroads are places where accidents and deaths are most common, and it’s said that wandering souls who haven’t been reincarnated linger there.

The method Zhang Song chose was to summon a hungry ghost for questioning. He placed the fragrant pork knuckle rice before him and stuck incense sticks into the rice, turning it into a meal for the dead. He burned joss paper in front of the meal to attract nearby spirits, and the incense would help the aroma spread even further, luring hungry ghosts.

When the spirit arrived, the questioner must tap the rim of the bowl with chopsticks as he asks his questions, signaling: “If you answer my questions, this meal is yours.” The torment of hunger is unbearable, and those who died of starvation remain hungry even in death. The offer of food is irresistible to such ghosts, who will usually answer any question—but one must remember, after the questioning, to give the meal to the hungry ghost. Failing that, the spirit’s wrath is inevitable.

Standing at the crossroads, Zhang Song pressed his palms together, lit the joss paper, and muttered, “Brothers of the road, please don’t mess with me. I just want to ask a question—this meal is my humble offering.”

Lighting the incense, he prayed again and again, “No offense, no offense.”

After a long while, a chill crept through the air. Zhang Song shivered. “It’s so late. Maybe the ghosts are all asleep? Maybe I should just forget this—it’s too scary.” He hesitated, ready to turn back, when suddenly a red figure blocked his way.

The apparition hovered above the ground, the hem of its crimson dress swaying. Fear struck Zhang Song dumb.

A cold breath swept over him.

In panic, Zhang Song dropped to his knees and kowtowed three times. “I’m terrified of ghosts too, but I have no choice! Please spare me!” He quickly grabbed the chopsticks he’d prepared and began tapping the rim of the pork knuckle bowl. “I don’t know who you are, when you died, or your surname, but my friend has been hidden by a ghost and is missing. If you could offer any guidance, I will offer you a feast in the future. Thank you so much!”

The red-clad spirit listened to his question, then raised her right hand, curling her finger to point at the ground.

“Underground?” Zhang Song was puzzled. “How could my friend be underground? Are you mistaken?” Despite his nerves, he couldn’t help questioning—how could Lin Xue be underground? Isn’t that where only the dead are buried?

Hearing his doubt, the red figure emitted a low, furious growl.

“I’m sorry! I was wrong!” Under sudden stress, Zhang Song tapped too hard, smashing the bowl and scattering pork, broken porcelain, and incense in a mess.

A deadly silence fell. Zhang Song looked up, trembling, to see the red-clad hungry ghost lunging at him in a rage.

“Oh, God! A ghost!” Zhang Song bolted, shouting, “Don’t hurt me!”

Back at the inn, Fang Min and Fang Yong were just waking up in bed.

“I’m starving,” Fang Min said, rubbing her eyes.

“Hungry? I’ll go get you something,” Fang Yong volunteered at once. Given everything that was happening, he knew he had to take care of her.

“Thank you, future husband!” Fang Min kissed him deeply.

“It’s nothing—I should do this.” Fang Yong got up, dressed, and said, “I’ll be right back, wait for me.”

“Alright, darling,” Fang Min managed a weak smile.

The door closed. As soon as Fang Yong left the inn, Fang Min sprang from bed, hurried to the mirror, and took out a red apple, a fruit knife, and a white candle she’d prepared in advance.

“Lin Xue, I will find you—I swear it.”